N  D  U  R  A 


B.    P.    MOORE 


GIFT  -OF 


ENDURA; 


OR, 


Three  Generations, 


A  NEW  ENGLAND  ROMANCE 


KY 

B.  P.  MOORE. 


SAN  FRANCISCO: 

GOLDEN  ERA  COMPANY, 

712  MONTGOMERY  ST. 

1885. 


All  rights  reserved. 
GOLDEN    ERA  COMPANY. 


PREFACE. 

We  often  hear  of  immense  fortunes  being  left  in  Europe,  the  heirs  to  which  are 
supposed  to  be  in  America.  In  some  few  instances  the  fortunes  have  been 
secured  by  the  legitimate  heirs,  but  usually  the  great  difficulty  is  in  collecting 
money  enough  to  prosecute  the  claim  to  a  successful  termination,  there  being 
such  a  lack  of  harmony  and  unanimity  among  the  claimants,  each  one  being 
afraid  that  he  or  she  will  contribute  more  than  his  or  her  share;  or,  what  is  just 
as  likely,  the  heirs  may  be  too  poor  to  pay  out  money  upon  such  a  venture,  so 
that  in  the  end  all  efforts  are  abandoned,  and,  in  time,  the  whole  matter  is  for 
gotten. 

It  is  no  uncommon  thing  to  take  up  a  newspaper  and  read  an  advertisement, 
that  Smith,  or  Jones  will  hear  something  to  his  interest  by  communicating  with 
Black  &  White,  attorneys-at-law,  street  and  number  So-and-so.  The  aforesaid 
Smith  or  Jones  may  never  turn  up,  and,  consequently,  the  world  is  left  in  igno 
rance  as  to  what  he  may  have  been  wanted  for.  True  it  is  that  hundreds  of  for 
tunes  have  been  lost  by  parsimony  and  neglect.  Where  there  is  apathy  or  lack 
of  enthusiasm  there  is  lack  of  enterprise,  and  not  much  can  be  expected  to  be 
accomplished. 

It  became  necessary  for  some  one  to  furnish  the  money  to  prosecute  the  claim 
in  the  Iver's  case,  and  as  the  family  was  poor,  it  would  have  been  impossible  for 
them  to  do  it.  Even  if  they  had  had  means  sufficient,  without  some  clew,  it  would 
have  been  the  height  of  folly  to  have  spent  money  upon  a  matter  so  uncertain. 

The  author  conceived  the  idea  of  making  a  rascal,  unwittingly,  furnish  the  sin 
ews  of  war,  with  the  full  hope  and  expectation  of  enjoying  the  fortune,  as  the 
result  which  was  accomplished,  according  to  the  following  story,  would  never 
have  been  reached  if  a  great  many  heirs  had  been  interested  and  consulted.  It 
was  a  great  stake  for  a  gambler  to  play  for,  and,  had  not  Providence  interfered, 
he  might  have  won.  Such  an  accident  as  the  friend  of  the  family's  discovering  the 
fraud,  could  easily  have  happened.  Eut  it  was  a  great  question  with  the  author, 
as  to  whether  the  lawyers  who  had  the  case  in  charge,  having  received  retaining  fees 
and  large  amounts  of  money  from  time  to  time,  could  honorably  abandon  his 
interests,  even  though  the  conviction  was  forced  upon  them  that  he  was  an 
impostor. 

The  author  consulted  a  number  of  able  attorneys  upon  the  subject,  whose 
opinions  differed  greatly.  And  there  appeared  to  be  no  better  way  out  of  the 
dilemma  than  that  the  impostor,  himself,  should  be  put  out  of  the  way ;  and 
nothing  was  more  natural  than  that  his  accomplice  should  be  the  one  to  make 
way  with  him,  when  said  accomplice  became  convinced  that  he  had  been  robbed 
and  fooled  by  the  cunning  rascal. 

The  scenes  are  laid  in  New  England  and  in  France.     The  first  of  the  localities 


the  author  is  familiar  with,  and  as  much  as  it  pains  him  to  admit  the  decay  of 
old  New  England  country  homes,  he  is  compelled  to  do  so.  And  that  parsi 
mony  and  bigotry  have  had  much  to  do  with  its  decline,  he  fully  believes;  which, 
with  the  lack  of  new  blood  coming  in,  and  many  of  the  more  enterprising  young 
men  going  away  to  newer  fields,  have  all  contributed  to  its  decline. 

The  characters  which  have  been  described  in  this  volume  may  be  seen  to-day 
in  any  of  the  country  towns  of  New  England.  And  it  is  sad  to  contemplate, 
but  they  are  growing  worse  and  worse  as  the  land  produces  less  and  less. 

Wherever  a  railroad  goes,  goes  life  and  enterprise.  But  like  a  great  tree 
with  far-reaching  roots,  it  draws  from  the  country  around  the  young  men 
who  were  wont  to  till  the  soil.  They  work  upon  the  road,  or  hang  around  the  sta 
tions,  waiting  for  something  to  turn  up,  while  the  plow  rusts  and  the  fences  go  un 
repaired. 

But  we  believe  the  time  will  come  when  our  old  homes  will  be  reinhabited  and 
the  old  fields  recultivated,  and  youth  and  beauty  once  more  gather  around  the 
hearth  ;  when  the  beautiful  and  romantic  nooks  will  be  selected  for  the  homes 
of  those  seeking  health  and  pleasure  among  the  woods  and  green  fields  ;  where 
the  brown  thrush  sings  at  dawn,  and  the  whip-poor-will  at  dusk,  and  babbling 
brooks  run  on  forever. 


EN DURA:" 


OR, 

THREE     GENERATIONS. 
CHAPTER    I. 

THE   SETTLER. 

"  Nature  I'll  court,  in  her  sequested  haunts, 

By  mountain,  meadow,  streamlet,  grove,  or  cell, 
Where  the  pois'd  lark  his  evening  ditty  chants, 
And  health,  and  peace,  and  contemplation  dwell." 

— Smollet's  Ode  to  Independence. 

WE  will  lead  you  through  uncertain  paths,  over  stone  walls 
buried  beneath  the  debris  and  mould  of  ages,  by  the  side 
of  stream-beds  that  were  once  gurgling  brooks,  through  tangled 
brushwood  and  brambles  where  once  the  smooth  path  led  to  a 
neighboring  house,  the  path  now  choked  and  lost,  except  to  him 
whose  childish  feet  were  wont  to  stray  therein.  Near  this  path 
was  once  a  quaint  old  house  of  which  naught  remains  but  a  pile 
of  rough  stones  with  plastered  chinks — a  crumbling  monument 
of  the  builder  long  since  forgotten.  This  old  chimney  brings 
to  mind  a  long  train  of  recollections,  some  sweet,  some  bitter. 

Here  lived,  long  ago,  the  hardy  tiller  of  the  now  worn-out 
soil.  These  hills  once  echoed  to  the  sound  of  the  woodman's 
axe,  as  it  cleft  the  great  oaks  which  have  given  place  to  their 
stinted  successors  that  at  present  cumber  the  ground.  Each 
generation  seems  to  have  scraped  closer  and  closer  to  the  bone, 
until  it  is  almost  bare,  and  to-day  the  sturdy  farmer  barely 
gathers  the  pittance  which  suffices  to  feed  and  poorly  clothe  his 
growing  family.  We  know  it  was  not  always  thus;  comparative 
wealth  was  once  found  even  here. 

The  lines  by  Oliver  Goldsmith,  upon  Old  England,  written  a 
century  and  a  quarter  since,  are  to-day  just  as  applicable  to 
New  England: 


2  ENDURA I     OR, 

*  t*  -A  time  tkera  w,a$,  O~e  England's  griefs  began, 

•  *-  When  QTeiiyjrbpd^of  ground  maintained  its  man; 
-    «...  ^ior  him.  light  labor  spread  her  wholesome  store, 

-*• "-  f  i  * :  ^^^  gjave  what  ]fie  req[uir'd,  but  gave  no  more ; 
'His  test  co'mj&hic'hs'  innocence  and  health, 
And  his  best  riches,  ignorance  of  wealth." 

Indeed,  the  whole  poem,  "The  Deserted  Village,"  might  well 
have  been  written  for  many  a  village  in  New  England  to-day. 
About  the  time  the  above  lines  were  written,  the  agricultural 
interests  of  America  were  in  their  infancy,  and  yet,  we  might 
almost  say,  the  Eastern  States  had  reached  their  most  happy,  if 
not  their  most  prosperous,  stage.  It  is  certain  that  the  same 
amount  of  land  supported  fully  four  times  as  many  inhabitants 
then  as  it  does  to-day;  and  who  shall  say  that  there  was  not 
more  real  happiness  throughout  that  particular  section  of  the 
country  than  there  is  at  the  present  time?  Comfortable  homes, 
thrift  and  prosperity,  where  to-day  is  penury  and  parsimony. 
Indeed,  it  behooves  the  inhabitants  who  still  remain  at  these  old 
homes  to-be  prudent,  if  not  parsimonious,  and  it  is  little  wonder 
if  they  have  grown  mean  and  bigoted  amid  the  general  decay. 

The  hardy  settlers  of  the  New  England  States  have  a  record 
that  their  descendants  have  never  attained — a  record  for  succeed 
ing  in  the  face  of  disaster  and  discouragement  that  the  bravest 
and  the  best  may  well  emulate.  The  forests  became  meadows,  the 
apple-tree  took  the  place  of  the  oak,  and  corn-fields  covered  the 
hillsides  and  the  valleys.  The  domain  was  sub-divided,  line 
fences  were  built,  stone  walls  gradually  replaced  the  chestnut 
rails,  with  gaps  and  bar-ways  here  and  there,  from  one  field  to 
another;  crops  were  rotated,  the  meadow  became  a  cornfield,  and 
then  the  potato-vines  covered  the  ground,  and  then  the  oats  were 
scattered  and  grew  apace  with  the  clover,  the  redtop  and  the 
herd-grass  planted  and  taking  root  at  the  same  time,  so  that  the 
fourth  year  it  became  a  meadow  again.  All  seasons  had 
their  charms,  and  the  happy  husbandman  was  grateful  for  all— 
the  spring  that  brought  buds  and  promise,  the  summer  with  its 
fruits,  and  the  autumn  with  its  abundance,  while  winter  brought 
rest  and  social  enjoyments.  The  light  work  necessary  to  be 
done  was  a  recreation.  While  the  farmer  did  his  indoor  work, 


THREE    GENERATIONS.  3 

the  good  wife  carded  and  spun,  and  wove  or  knitted,  as  the 
case  might  be,  while  the  children  studied  or  ate  the  apples  and 
nuts  which  they  had  helped  to  gather  ere  the  earth  became 
bound  in  its  icy  chains. 

It  was  in  the  latter  part  of  the  last  century,  when  the  good  people 
of  good  old  New  England  were  enjoying  all  that  a  contented,  happy 
people  could  possibly  enjoy,  that  a  young  man  came  into  the  thriving 

town  of  S and  purchased   a  small  tract  of  woodland,  with  a 

small  clearing,  which  seemed  most  prolific  of  rocks  and  cobblestones. 
A  pretty  little  stream  went  singing  on  over  the  rocks,  and  through  the 
lowlands;  now  laughing  in  the  sunshine;  now  plunging  down  into  the 
crystal  pool  beneath;  now  hidden  in  the  wild  grass  that  grew  by  its 
side;  anon,  coqueting  with  the  slender  twigs  of  the  willow  that  bent  to 
kiss  it  as  it  passed;  still  singing  its  beautiful  song — 

"  Men  may  come,  and  men  may  go; 
But  I  go  on  forever." 

Jeremiah  Ivers  concluded  to  cast  his  lot  amid  scenes  like  these. 
His  cabin,  or  hut,  as  it  really  was,  was  built  after  the  style  of  the  In 
dian  wigwam,  by  standing  poles  on  end,  leaning  together  at  the  top, 
with  a  small  aperture  through  which  the  smoke  from  the  fire,  which 
was  built  in  the  center,  was  expected  to  find  its  way,  after  blinding  for 
the  time  the  tenant  who  was  kept  in-doors  by  the  inclemency  of  the 
weather. 

A  large,  flat  stone,  standing  on  end,  was  supposed  to  represent  the 
fire-place,  while  from  long  poles  suspended  from  the  top  were 
hung  the  pot-hooks  and  trammels,  well  gauged  to  accommodate  the 
fire  that  was  to  boil  the  water  and  cook  the  food.  Upon  either  side 
were  spaces  alloted  for  household  utensils,  for  a  general  storehouse, 
and  for  a  bunk,  or  bunks,  as  the  case  might  be.  Some  saplings,  tied 
together  with  withes,  calked  and  lined  with  flags,  or  grass,  constituted 
the  door,  which  fastened  on  the  inside  by  a  latch,  with  a  strong 
leather  strap  passing  through  a  hole  to  the  outside,  so  that  by  pulling 
the  string,  or  strap,  the  latch  would  be  raised  and  one  could  enter — 
hence,  the  saying  of  the  latch-string  being  out  to  a  friend.  At  night 
the  string  was  pulled  in,  and  so  the  door  was  fastened.  Jerry  Ivers 
took  great  interest  and  pride  in  his  hut,  and  when  it  was  completed, 
with  its  bunk  of  clean,  dry  leaves  and  glowing  coals  of  fire,  it  pre- 


4  ENDURA  I    OR, 

sented  an  air  of  comfort  that  a  tired  man  might  well  covet.  Gradual 
ly  a  shed  was  erected,  well  thatched  with  leaves  and  mud.  In  good 
time  a  cow  and  a  pig  were  added,  when  another  tenement  was 
erected.  Soon  turkeys  and  chickens  and  geese  and  ducks  were 
seen  around  the  isolated  habitation.  They  made  their  nests,  and  laid 
their  eggs,  and  hatched  their  young,  and  multiplied,  and  young  Ivers 
was  almost  happy. 

True,  wild  animals  would  sometimes  raid  his  hen-roosts,  or  destroy 
his  young  turkeys;  but  he  was  content  to  raise  three-quarters  of 
what  the  old  ones  brought  from  their  nests.  From  chopping  and 
grubbing  came  plowing  and  sowing,  when  cattle  or  horses  became 
necessary.  By  trading  and  bartering,  the  young  farmer  at  length 
became  the  happy  possessor  of  a  pair  of  steers.  Two-year-old  calves 
could  scarcely  be  called  oxen;  but  it  was  wonderful  what  the  tough 
little  creatures  could  do,  and  they  grew  as  they  worked  until  they 
were  indeed  oxen;  and  well  repaid  their  owner's  care  and  attention. 

One  by  one  the  implements  of  husbandry  were  brought  to  the 
settlement.  Carts,  plows,  harrows,  etc.,  were  made  and  taken  care  of, 
until  scarcely  a  thing  was  needed  for  successful  farming,  as  farming 
was  conducted  at  that  time. 

Mr.  Ivers  began  to  feel  that  his  hut  had  done  its  work,  and  that  a 
modest  house  could  be  built  with  little  expense  other  than  his  own 
labor.  He  could  exchange  work  with  others  who  lived  but  a  few 
miles  distant;  and  thus  he  could  get  assistance  for  doing  the  raising 
and  heavier  part  of  the  building.  When  it  was  enclosed  with  rough 
boards,  he  rived  and  shaved  the  shingles  for  the  entire  outside  and 
roof,  and  in  due  course  of  time  he  put  them  on. 

When  the  outside  was  finished  he  turned  his  attention  to  the  in 
terior,  which  required  rather  more  skill  than  the  exterior.  A  carpen 
ter  was  employed  for  a  few  days,  with  whose  help  the  house  soon 
became  habitable.  At  first  a  few  benches  and  a  rough  table  were  all 
the  furniture  the  mansion  could  boast  of.  Half  a  dozen  splint-bottom 
chairs  were  soon  added  without  paint  or  polish.  Then  a  fall-leaf 
table  of  curled  maple,  and  then  a  bedstead  corded  and  pinned,  with 
a  good  under-bed  of  clean  rye-straw,  and  that  old-time  New  England 
luxury,  the  feather-bed,  completed  the  outfit.  It  appeared  to  the  young 


THREE    GENERATIONS.  5 

man  that  his  house  was  almost  complete.  There  was  one  thing 
wanting,  and  that  was  a  wife. 

In  his  native  town,  ten  miles  away,  there  was  a  substantial,  sensible 
girl  waiting,  we  do  not  know  how  patiently,  to  fill  the  void.  The 
fondest  hopes  of  the  young  man  had  been  realized,  and  he  was 
anxious  for  the  girl  he  loved  to  enjoy  the  home  he  had  provided  for 
her.  When  such  a  home  was  the  best,  ambition  could  ask  no  more. 
They  might  have  dreamed  of  palaces,  but  they  were  not  for  them,  and 
they  were  content.  Four  snug  rooms  were  sufficient,  as  they  to  each 
other  were  all  in  all. 

The  above  is  no  fancy  sketch,  nor  is  it  an  isolated  instance  of 
thrift  and  enterprise  in  New  England  a  hundred  years  ago;  and 
to-day,  in  the  far  West,  there  are  thousands  of  cases  which  might 
fairly  be  mistaken  for  the  one  we  have  depicted.  Such  men  as 
Jerry  Ivers  can  be  found  in  any  new  country,  and  the  child  is  yet 
unborn  who  shall  tell  his  tale  a  hundred  years  hence. 

Our  young  farmer  rapidly  grew  in  importance  and  wealth.  Acres 
and  acres  were  added  gradually  to  his  domain,  until  Squire  Ivers 
was  the  undisputed  owner  of  the  largest  farm  in  the  county. 

About  this  time  a  son  was  born  unto  him,  and  there  appeared  to 
be  a  treble  incentive  to  work.  Mrs.  Ivers,  who  had,  until  now,  been 
able  to  do  most  of  the  work,  found  it  necessary  to  have  help,  and  a 
young  girl,  the  daughter  of  a  neighboring  farmer,  was  engaged  to  do 
housework,  for  which  she  was  to  receive  $i  a  week,  which  was 
considered  good  pay;  and  so  it  was,  when  she  could  get  a  calico 
dress  made  for  $i,  without  the  aid  of  the  sewing-machine;  and,  as 
few  wore  silk,  it  was  as  good  as  the  average.  Besides  assisting  Mrs. 
Ivers  with  the  work  of  the  house,  the  servant  had  time  to  do  many 
little  jobs  for  herself,  as  well  as  some  fancy  needle-work,  or  knit  a 
purse  for  her  young  man,  who  thought  as  much  of  it  as  young  men 
of  the  present  day  do  of  their  gorgeous  dressing-gowns  or  brocaded 
slippers.  The  young  folks  were  quite  as  happy,  and  far  more  con 
tented,  than  they  are  to-day  in  the  same  walks  of  life.  They  had 
their  huskings,  their  quiltings,  their  apple-cuts  or  paring-bees,  and 
their  parties,  at  which  they  played  plays  or  danced  their  country 
dances. 

The  paring-bees  were  conducted  by  the  young  people  altogether. 


ENDURA:  OR, 

A  quantity  of  apples  were  provided,  which  were  to  be  pared  and 
quartered  and  strung  upon  strings,  to  be  hung  in  the  sun  to  dry. 
Needles  were  not  so  plenty  that  they  could  be  afforded  for  such 
work,  so  it  became  necessary  to  improvise  some,  which  was  done  by 
bending  a  piece  of  wire  to  make  an  eye  through  which  to  put  the 
strong  thread  that  was  to  hold  the  quartered  apples.  Some  young 
man  in  the  surrounding  country  was  usually  the  owner  of  a  paring- 
machine,  and  his  was  often  the  hardest  work.  In  fact,  he  was 
quite  a  lion.  The  girls  would  gather  around  him  and  clamor  for  the 
fairest  and  best  apples,  and  when  an  apple  was  pared  and  the  peel 
fell  unbroken,  it  served  as  a  fortune-teller,  until  too  many  fortunes 
broke  it  in  twain.  As  the  evening  wore  on,  other  amusements  were 
introduced.  Not  infrequently  would  a  stray  core  or  a  quarter  of  an 
apple  bring  up  against  the  head  of  some  presumptuous  fellow,  and 
no  one  would  know  from  whence  it  came.  A  sharp  lookout  would 
be  kept  for  the  daring  miss  who  threw  it,  and  it  often  happened 
that  the  core  of  an  apple,  well  aimed,  was  as  effective  as  Cupid's 
fabled  arrows. 

After  the  work  of  the  evening  was  accomplished,  which  was 
usually  about  eight  o'clock,  the  debris  was  cleared  away,  the  aprons 
and  over-dresses  removed,  and  the  business  began  in  good  earnest. 
Games  were  played,  fortunes  were  told,  songs  were  sung,  and  general 
joy  prevailed  until  the  refreshments  were  brought  in.  The  refresh 
ments  usually  consisted  of  cakes  and  candies  and  new  cider. 
Philopenas  were  eaten  and  forfeits  made.  All  sorts  of  punishments 
were  contrived  that  the  witty  could  suggest  or  that  the  more  daring 
would  attempt  to  execute — from  making  a  "sailor's  jacket,"  which 
was  a  kind  of  twisted  kissing,  or  of  going  to  Jerusalem,  which  was  a 
wickedly-designed  punishment,  obliging  the  criminal  to  go  the  round 
of  the  room,  kissing  all  the  girls  present.  Some  would  have  lingered 
long  by  the  way,  but  the  pilgrimage  must  be  made,  and  woe  to  the 
love-lorn  knight  that  rested  too  long  in  the  bower  of  some  favorite 
beauty.  The  ring  plays  were  much  in  vogue,  and  a  willing  hand 
has  often  remained  upon  the  cord  while  some  favorite  touched  it, 
with  little  effort;  and  then  the  kiss,  and  the  changing  places — she  to 
the  center  of  the  ring,  while  the  lucky  fellow  was  marked  for  the 
prey  of  some  other  fairy.  Some  would  stray  away  into  quiet  corners 


THREE   GENERATIONS.  7 

and  whisper  love,  and  live,  for  one  short  hour,  in  bliss,  to  be 
awakened  at  last  to  the  sad  reality  that  they  must  part,  as  part  they 
do,  when  the  lateness  of  the  hour  admonishes  them  that  morning 
soon  will  dawn. 

How  many  have  dreamed  that  brief  and  happy  dream !  Who 
can  say?  Thousands  who  have  never  realized  what  they  so  fondly 
hoped  for.  Some  were  separated  forever,  and  others,  who  were 
allowed  to  possess  their  heart's  idol,  have  lived  to  bless  the  day 
when  a  stray  apple-core  decided  their  fate. 

Those  were,  indeed,  halcyon  days  for  New  England. 

"  These  were  thy  charms,  sweet  village.    Sports  like  these, 
With  sweet  succession,  taught  e'en  toil  to  please. 
These  round  thy  bowers  their  cheerful  influence  shed ; 
These  were  thy  charms— but  all  these  charms  are  fled." 

In  writing  about  New  England,  we  wish  to  be  understood  to  refer 
to  the  country,  and  the  small  villages,  which  have  both  deteriorated 
and  fallen  to  decay  within  less  than  half  a  century.  Whatever  the 
larger  towns  and  cities  may  have  absorbed,  we  cannot  say;  but  we 
know  that  the  country  is  no  longer  what  it  was  fifty  years  ago;  and 
what  must  it  have  been  one  hundred  years  before,  when  it  was  in  its 
glory?  History  alone  can  tell  us. 


ENDURA  :    OR, 


CHAPTER  II. 

CROWNED  WITH    HONOR. 

The  honors  of  a  name  'tis  just  to  guard ; 
They  are  a  trust,  but  lent  us,  which  we  take, 
And  should,  in  reverence  to  the  donor's  fame, 
With  care  transmit  them  down  to  other  hands. 

— Shirley. 

various  town-offices  were  heaped  upon  Mr.  Ivers  as  long  as  he 
JL  would  consent  to  acccept  them.  When  he  pleaded  his  inability  to 
give  an  office  the  proper  attention,  he  was  persuaded  to  take  it  against 
his  better  judgment.  He  was  Town  Clerk,  Overseer  of  the  High-ways, 
Justice  of  the  Peace,  Overseer  of  the  Poor,  and  general  candidate  for 
any  office  which  his  constituents  thought  best  to  thrust  upon  him. 
He  had  been  a  soldier  in  the  War  of  the  Revolution,  and  some  of 
his  military  ardor  still  clung  to  him.  From  Corporal  to  Captain  he 
soon  arose  to  be  the  General  commanding  the  militia,  which  held  its 
annual  muster  once  a  year,  every  fall,  when  the  General  appeared  in 
all  his  glory,  bedecked  with  his  trappings  of  gold  and  silver  tinsel. 
Then  he  was,  indeed,  a  great  man,  and  looked  up  to  by  all  the  coun 
try  around.  The  old  admired  and  the  young  were  fired  to  emulate. 
By  the  unsophisticated  boy  he  was  looked  upon  as  a  superior  being, 
almost  as  a  God. 

When  it  so  happened  that  a  young,  single  man  arose  from  the 
ranks  to  the  saddle,  he  was  the  envy  of  his  fellows,  and  the  idol  of 
the  fair  sex.  Gradually,  as  Walter  Ivers  grew  in  years,  his  father  laid 
his  honors  aside,  holding  one  or  two  offices,  however,  until  the  day 
of  his  death;  which  did  not  occur  until  four-score  years  were  added 
to  his  days,  before  which  Walter  was  capable  of  filling  his  position, 
so  that  the  Ivers  place  was  still  in  good  hands. 

Walter  was  not  in  all  respects  like  his  father.  He  had  been 
brought  up  in  a  different  school,  but  still  he  had  many  of  his 
characteristics.  He  was  persevering  and  speculative,  where  his  father 
had  been  conservative  and  prudent.  He  was  a  genial  companiom 
and,  being  wealthy,  was  naturally  looked  upon  as  one  of  the  foremost 
men  of  the  country.  Honors  sat  lightly  upon  him.  He  seemed  to 


THREE    GENERATIONS.  9 

take  them  up  as  his  father  had  laid  them  down.  Having  been  edu 
cated  in  a  different  school  from  that  of  his  father,  it  was  natural  that 
he  should  have  imbibed  different  ideas,  more  generous  and  enlarged. 
In  fact,  his  tendencies  were  to  extravagance.  He  had  plenty  of 
everything  that  heart  could  wish  before  his  father  died.  Scarcely 
anything  was  denied  him,  even  as  a  boy.  His  mother  indulged  him 
as  a  child,  and,  being  an  only  child,  his  father  idolized  him, 
and  granted  him  almost  every  request.  When  he  was  about  twenty 
years  of  age  an  event  occurred  in  the  neighborhood,  which  caused 
quite  a  ripple  upon  the  smooth  current  of  the  time.  A  mysterious 
gentleman  and  his  family  came  to  settle  in  a  distant  town.  It  was 
understood  that  he  was  a  Frenchman;  but  he,  with  his  wife  and 
daughter,  spoke  English  fluently,  and  they  were  soon  accepted  as 
friends  and  citizens;  and,  by  the  better  class,  courted  for  their  refine 
ment  and  gentility.  The  gentleman's  name  was  Louis  Dubrow,  and 
his  daughter  was  called  Annette.  Madame  Dubrow  was  a  tall,  dark, 
commanding  woman,  not  beautiful  nor  yet  plain.  There  was  a 
quiet  dignity  about  her  that  seemed  to  impress  one  with  her  superior 
ity;  always  polite,  often  coldly  so. 

Her  home  was  better  furnished  than  her  neighbors'.  Articles 
of  virtu  were  scattered  here  and  there  throughout  the  house,  which 
was  large  and  rather  imposing — elegant  vases,  some  bronzes,  some 
rare  pictures,  some  old  portraits,  old  china,  silver  with  mysterious 
hieroglyphics,  and  linen  with  very  odd  letters  deftly  wrought 
upon  it  by  the  hand  of  an  artist. 

There  were  also  some  elaborately-wrought  pieces  of  antique 
tapestry,  kept  most  sacred.  Mr.  Dubrow  purchased  the  place  from 
an  old  Revolutionary  soldier,  and  it  was  said  he  paid  a  good  round 
price  for  it,  which  was  mostly  paid  in  English  sovereigns  and  French 
gold.  He  was  not  a  good  farmer,  and,  although  he  had  one  of  the 
best  farms  in  the  State,  he  did  not  seem  to  prosper,  but  rather  to  go 
behind.  He  did  little  or  no  work  himself,  and  the  help  he  employed 
appeared  to  do  pretty  much  as  they  liked.  They  were  well  paid, 
and  liked  their  master,  seeming  to  think  that  there  was  no  bottom  to 
his  money-bags.  He  sold  very  little  produce,  and  purchased  every 
thing  for  himself  and  his  family  in  town,  where  he  had  an  account. 
He  neglected  his  buildings  and  his  crops,  and  soon  the  once 


io  ENDURA:   OR, 

beautiful  farm  showed  the  neglect.  His  wife  did  not  appear  to 
realize  what  the  end  would  be,  but  lived  as  though  the  fountain 
could  never  run  dry.  Annette  partook  something  of  her  mother's 
characteristics,  but,  physically,  she  was  of  an  entirely  different  type. 
She  was  a  decided  blonde,  of  perfect  mould,  but  rather  slender. 
Her  eyes  were  of  a  dark  blue,  and  danced  as  she  spoke,  especially  if 
she  happened  to  be  a  little  excited,  which  was  not  very  often  the 
case.  Her  features  were  rather  Grecian,  but  modified,  still  not 
approaching  the  Roman.  She  had  perfect  hands  and  feet,  which 
were  always  daintily  dressed.  Indeed,  all  her  dressing  was  faultless, 
and  showed  to  the  very  best  advantage  a  figure  which  nature  had 
lavished  so  much  on  that  art  could  add  but  little.  Her  acquaint 
ance  was  much  sought  by  the  young  men  of  the  country,  who 
pretended  to  be  the  fashionable  representatives  of  the  place.  Young 
Ivers,  among .  the  rest,  sought  the  beautiful  stranger,  and  became 
enamored  of  her  at  first  sight.  But  he  met  with  so  many  repulses 
that  he  became  almost  discouraged,  until  an  event  occurred  which 
seemed  to  open  up  a  way  for  his  success.  Mr.  Dubrow  became 
greatly  embarrassed,  which  fact  came  to  the  ears  of  young  Ivers,  who 
requested  his  father  to  assist  him  by  indorsing  his  note. 
But  Squire  Ivers  preferred  himself  to  advance  the  money, 
taking  a  mortgage  upon  Mr.  Dubrow's  farm  for  the  amount.  About 
this  time  there  was  a  bank  incorporated,  of  which  Jeremiah  Ivers 
was  president,  and  his  son  cashier.  The  salary  was  not  large,  but 
young  Ivers  felt  that  he  could  indulge  in  more  luxuries  than  he  would 
otherwise  have  thought  of  doing.  Perhaps  the  noble  instincts  of  the 
young  man  may  have  prompted  him  to  assist  the  embarrassed 
farmer.  Be  that  as  it  may,  the  assistance  was  gladly  granted,  and 
quite  as  gladly  accepted. 

During  the  negotiations,  Walter  Ivers  was  frequently  called  to  the 
home  of  the  Dubrows,  which,  in  a  measure,  gave  him  the  advantage 
over  other  suitors  for  the  hand  of  the  daughter.  Some  of  these 
young  men  were  of  more  aristocratic  pretentions,  and,  it  was  thought 
by  the  knowing  ones,  more  acceptable  to  the  young  lady's 
father.  But  Walter  appeared  to  thrive  in  his  suit,  and  all  bid  fair  for 
a  speedy  consummation.  The  first  loan  was  soon  followed  by  a 
second,  and  soon  a  third  was  applied  for;  but  Ivers,  Sr.,  did  not 


THREE    GENERATIONS.  I  I 

consider  the  security  gilt-edged,  and  declined  any  further  advance, 
which  brought  matters  to  a  climax.  The  valuable  property  was 
deeded  to  Mr.  Ivers,  and  Mr.  Dubrow  and  family  were  allowed  to 
remain  as  tenants.  In  the  meantime,  Annette  had  become  more 
and  more  interested  in  the  smart  young  American,  until  the  time 
was  fixed  when  they  were  to  be  married. 

Unexpectedly,  it  was  announced  that  Mr.  Dubrow  was  to  sell  all 
his  personal  property  at  public  auction.  There  was  no  reason  given 
for  the  sudden  determination,  and  upon  the  day  set  all  his  movables 
were  so  disposed  of,  with  the  exception  of  a  few,  which  were  boxed 
up  and  shipped  to  the  city,  where  the  ex-farmer  immediately  followed 
them  with  his  wife  and  daughter. 

At  the  time  the  above  transpired,  communication  between  the 
different  sections  of  the  country  was  not  as  rapid  as  at  present.  It 
sometimes  took  ten  days  for  the  mail  to  reach  Boston  from  New 
York,  and  the  telegraph  was  unheard  of. 

The  sudden  departure  of  the  Dubrows  filled  the  mind  of  young 
Ivers  with  distrust  and  alarm,  and  the  mouths  of  the  gossipers  with 
something  to  talk  about.  Walter  was  troubled  to  think  that  his 
affianced  wife  should  depart  without  one  line  or  word  informing  him 
of  her  destination  or  address.  He  waited  anxiously  for  many  days 
before  a  letter  came,  post-marked  New  York.  He  knew  the  hand 
writing,  and  eagerly  opened  it,  to  have  his  hopes  dashed  to  the 
ground ;  for,  instead  of  the  expected  loving  letter  from  his  heart's 
idol,  there  were  but  a  few  lines  in  a  strange  hand,  as  follows : 

NEW  YORK,  Sept.  10,  18-. 

DEAR  WALTER  :  There  is  no  opportunity  for  me  to  write  un 
observed,  so  I  am  obliged  to  sign  my  name  to  a  blank,  and  dictate, 
in  apparent  disinterested  conversation,  what  I  wish  you  to  know. 
We  sail  for  Liverpool  in  two  hours.  Papa  is  now  engaged  in  send 
ing  our  luggage  on  board,  and  does  not  observe  me  in  conversation 
with  one  of  the  hotel  servants,  by  the  name  of  Katy  Freeman,  who 
has  kindly  offered  to  write  what  I  shall  dictate.  I  will  write  on 
board  ship,  and  contrive  some  way  for  it  to  reach  you.  I  am  almost 
distracted,  but  must  appear  calm  to  allay  suspicion.  When  I  reach 
he  other  side,  I  will  write  and  tell  you  how  and  where  to  address  me. 
Until  then,  believe  me  to  be  your  sorrowing  ANNETTE. 


12  ,   ENDURA:   OR, 

\Vhen  Walter  saw  her  name  at  the  bottom  of  the  page,  written  in 
such  evident  haste,  he  nearly  burst  with  rage,  realizing  for  the  first 
time  that  he  had  been  duped  by  the  wily  Frenchman.  He  deter 
mined  to  go  immediately  to  New  York  and  see  and  converse  with 
the  young  woman  who  had  so  faithfully  acted  her  part. 

He  did  not  inform  his  father  of  his  intended  trip,  until  a  few 
hours  before  his  departure,  and  then  that  old  gentleman  was  told  for 
the  first  time  of  the  treachery  of  the  man  they  had  befriended,  and 
of  the  unkind  treatment  of  his  daughter  upon  his  account.  Mr. 
Ivers  did  not  say,  "Do  not  go,"  but,  on  the  contrary,  intimated  that 
he  would  accompany  him,  which  the  young  man  would  not  consent 
to,  on  account  of  his  mother,  who,  he  said,  would  be  so  lonely  if 
both  were  away.  It  was  finally  settled  that  Walter  should  go  alone. 
His  father  gave  him  a  letter  to  a  friend  in  the  city,  with  what  money 
he  required,  and,  bidding  adieu  to  his  mother,  he  set  out  with  his 
father  for  the  place  where  he  was  to  take  the  stage.  It  soon  came 
along,  and  Walter  was  fairly  on  his  way  to  the  great  city,  where,  for  a 
time,  we  will  leave  him, while  we  look  up  some  more  of  the  characters 
which  are  to  play  parts  in  the  drama  being  enacted. 

The  town  of  S ,  in  the  early  part  of  the  present  century,  did  not 

greatly  differ  from  what  it  is  to-day,  as  far  as  its  tendency  to  gossip, 
and  the  most  unimportant  matter  was  often  magnified  into  astonish 
ing  proportions.  It  was  soon  noised  about  that  Mr.  Dubrow  had 
run  away,  owing  Squire  Ivers  a  large  amount  of  money.  Some  said 
ten  thousand  dollars  ;  others  set  it  as  high  as  twenty  thousand,  or 
more.  At  one  time  it  was  whispered  around  that  it  would  bank 
rupt  him;  and  some  few  who  had  a  little  money  in  the  bank  drew 
it  out,  in  anticipation  of  a  collapse  of  that  institution,  in  consequence 
of  the  great  drafts  made  upon  it  by  the  president,  to  bridge  over  his 
great  loss.  They  were  surprised  that  the  bank  did  not  suspend,  and, 
after  weeks  of  uncertainty  and  anxiety,  they  stealthily  took  back 
what  they  had  drawn  out  so  unceremoniously. 

Some  scandalous  stories  were  set  afloat  about  Walter  Ivers.  There 
were  those,  who  pretended  to  know,  who  said  that  Annette  Dubrow 
was  not  the  daughter  of  Louis  Dubrow,  but  a  waif  picked  up  in  the 
city,  and  brought  out  in  the  country  for  improper  purposes.  In 


THREE    GENERATIONS.  13 

fact,  that  she  was  nothing  more  nor  less  than  the  mistress  of  Dubrow 
himself,  and  that  it  was  jealousy  that  prompted  him  to  take  the  action 
he  did.  Others  said  he  was  an  escaped  convict,  and  that  mysterious 
men  had  been  seen  watching  the  house,  who,  it  was  now  supposed, 
were  detectives  on  his  track,  and  to  escape  them  he  had  fled  so 
precipitately. 

Others  pretended  that  he  had  run  off  with  all  the  money  he  had 
borrowed  from  Mr.  Ivers,  and  that  he  was  robbed  and  murdered  on 
the  way.  To  give  coloring  to  the  latter  theory  it  was  related  that  the 
skeleton  of  a  man  had  been  found  at  some  distance  from  the  high 
way,  in  a  deep  cedar  swamp,  and  that  portions  of  the  clothing  found 
near  were  identical  with  that  which  he  had  on  the  day  before  he  went 
away. 

About  the  same  time  a  crazy  Irishman  attempted  to  murder  an 
entire  family  in  a  neighboring  village.  He  had  been  stopping  with 
the  family,  and  it  appeared  that  he  had  become  very  much  attached 
to  them.  But  for  some  unaccountable  reason,  one  night  he  procured 
an  axe,  and  tried  to  butcher  them  all,  some  five  or  six,  all  told. 
All,  with  the  exception  of  the  daughter,  a  young  woman,  were 
gashed  and  left  for  dead.  She  ran  out  of  the  house  and  fell  into  a 
hole  where  potatoes  had  been  buried  the  year  before,  and  so  escaped. 
Strange  as  it  may  seem,  though  all  were  assailed  by  the  same 
deadly  instrument,  none  were  killed  outright;  in  fact,  all  recovered, 
eventually,  enough  so  that  they  were  able  to  attend  to  their  duties, 
and  some  lived  to  a  goodly  old  age. 

The  would-be  murderer  never  was  captured,  though  the  whole 
neighborhood  turned  out  with  guns,  axes,  pitchforks  clubs,  and, 
blood  hounds,  trying  to  find  him.  It  was  reported  many  years 
after  that  a  man  was  hanged  for  some  crime  in  the  far  West,  who 
confessed  that  he  murdered  a  family  in  New  England,  and  it  was 
supposed  that  was  the  crime  he  alluded  to. 

Such  facts  gave  coloring  to  the  supposed  taking-off  of  Louis 
Dubrow. 

It  became  gradually  known  that  Squire  Ivers  had  purchased  the 
Frenchman's  place,  and,  when  he  offered  it  for  sale,  or  to  lease,  other 
theories  must  necessarily  be  proposed.  Some  of  the  baser  of  the 
maligners  did  not  hesitate  to  insinuate  that  Squire  Ivers  knew  more 


14  ENDURA:   OR, 

about  the  sudden  departure  of  the  Frenchman  than  he  was  willirig  to 
admit;  and  one  brutal  fellow,  who  had  been  arrested  for  stealing  a 
sheep  from  the  Squire,  said  he  believed  he  had  murdered  Dubrow 
himself,  and  sent  his  son  away,  so  that  he  might  not  expose  him. 
Where  ignorance  reigns,  suspicion  and  superstition  run  rampant. 
So  it  was  in  this  instance.  One  theory  was  no  sooner  disposed  of 
than  another  was  promulgated.  There  was  scarcely  a  bog  or  a 
swamp  in  which  the  body  of  the  Frenchman  was  not  supposed  by 
some  to  have  been  buried. 

It  was  a  little  strange  that  nothing  was  said  of  the  women  who  had 
disappeared  at  the  same  time. 

It  was  now  and  then  hinted  that  Walter  Ivers  knew  where  they 
went,  and  at  the  proper  time,  when  suspicion  was  allayed,  he  quietly 
followed  them,  and  that  now  he  was  living  with  the  young  one  in  New 
York,  or  some  where  else,  on  their  ill-gotten  gains.  The  tough  old 
hard-shells  did  not  hesitate  to  say  to  Squire  Ivers  that  they  had 
always  been  afraid  he  had  indulged  his  boy  too  much,  and  now  they 
hoped  he  could  see  his  mistake;  but  that  he  and  Mrs.  Ivers  should 
have  their  prayers,  and  possibly  the  prodigal  might  return  when  the 
fatted  calf  should  be  killed. 

One  or  two  of  the  more  pious  offered  to  pray  with  him  in  his  own 
house.  He  thanked  them,  and  said  he  feared  they  were  over-solic 
itous  for  his  good.  But  he  did  not  think  matters  were  as  bad  as  they 
thought,  and  that  it  would  all  turn  out  right  in  the  end.  They  went 
away  sorrowing  at  his  impenitence  and  lack  of  understanding. 

Poor  Mrs.  Ivers  was  compelled  to  suffer  more. 

Some  of  the  good  sisters  of  the  church  waited  upon  her,  and  told 
her,  that  though  her  sins  were  as  scarlet,  they  could  be  made  as  white 
as  snow,  if  she  would  but  believe  and  look  to  the  Lord.  She  told 
them  that  she  had  her  household  to  look  after,  and  that  they  must 
excuse  her.  But  they  would  not  consent  to  let  her  go  on  and  die  in 
her  sins  when  there  was  a  hand  stretched  out  to  save  her.  They 
told  her  •  they  would  call  next  day;  and,  sure  enough,  they  did,  and 
one  of  the  deacons  came  with  them. 

He  read  a  chapter  in  the  New  Testament,  closing  with  the 
twentieth  verse  of  the  thirteenth  chapter,  in  the  Gospel  according  to 
St.  John,  as  follows:  "Verily,  verily,  I  say  unto  you,  he  that  re- 


THREE    GENERATIONS.  15 

cieveth  whomsoever  I  send,  recieveth  me;  and  he  that  recieveth  me, 
receiveth  Him  that  sent  me."  He  closed  by  saying,  "My  dear  sister,  I 
am  but  an  humble  instrument  in  the  hands  of  the  Almighty,  to  show 
you  the  slippery  ground  upon  which  you  stand,  and  to  assure  you 
that,  according  to  the  text,  '  He  that  receiveth  me,  receiveth 
Him  that  sent  me,' "  ending  with  a  prayer  asking  God  to  not  lay  his 
hand  too  heavily  upon  her,  notwithstanding  her  sins;  for,  said  he,  "she 
knoweth  not  what  she  doeth."  Well  satisfied  that  he  had  done  his 
duty,  he  asked  her  if  she  had  any  new  rum  in  the  house.  Being 
answered  in  the  affirmative,  he  said  he  felt  exhausted,  and  would 
take  a  little  before  he  went,  which  being  done,  he  took  his  departure, 
fully  satisfied  that  he  had  given  a  quid  pro  quo  for  all  he  had  re 
ceived. 

Walter  Ivers  reached  New  York  after  a  tedious,  stormy  voyage  of 
eight  and  thirty  hours.  The  packet  upon  which  he  took  passage  was 
one  of  those  staunch  little  schooners,  built  expressly  for  the  rough 
usage  which,  at  times,  they  were  sure  to  receive  while  passing 
through  the  "Sound."  She  had  weathered  many  a  storm,  and  the 
last  had  not  been  one  of  the  least  which  she  had  encountered.  But 
she  brought  her  passengers  through  safely,  and  Walter  was  not  long 
in  getting  upon  terra  firma;  nor  was  he  long  in  finding  his  way  to 
the  "Knickerbocker  Hotel,"  the  house  at  which  the  Dubrows  stopped 
while  in  the  city. 

But  alas  for  human  hope  and  human  expectations !  the  bird 
had  flown.  The  young  woman  by  the  name  of  Katy  Freeman  could 
not  be  found. 

Walter  ascertained  that  she  had  left  the  hotel  some  days  before, 
and  no  one  could  give  him  any  clue  to  her  whereabouts.  At  length 
he  learned,  from  one  of  the  maids  who  knew  her  in  the  house,  that 
she  had  gone  into  the  country,  as  she  understood,  to  the  home  of  her 
parents.  After  much  inquiry  and  delay,  the  name  of  the  post-office 
was  discovered.  Young  Ivers  took  steps  to  proceed  thither  at  once, 
fearing  delay  in  getting  an  answer  to  a  letter,  should  he  write  one. 
He  could  scarcely  wait,  so  anxious  had  he  become. 

The  stage  coach  usually  left  in  the  morning,  and,  of  course,  there 
was  no  alternative  but  for  him  to  remain  over  another  night. 

Time  hung  heavily  on  his  hands  and  he  wandered  listlessly   about 


i6 


ENDURA :     OR, 


the  streets,  looking  in  the  windows,  as  country  people  are  apt  to  do 
when  on  shopping  excursions  to  the  city.  He  was  discovered  by 
some  sharpers  and  followed  from  place  to  place  until,  straying  into  the 
park,  he  seated  himself  upon  one  of  the  benches  to  rest.  Soon  a 
respectable-looking  man  came  and  sat  upon  the  same  bench,  making 
some  unimportant  remark  which  was  scarcely  noticed  by  Walter. 

Turning  suddenly  toward   him,  he   asked  if  he   was    not  from , 

naming  some  place  so  indistinctly  that  Walter  did  not  understand  him. 
Walter   said  he  thought  he    had  made  a  mistake,  as  he  was    from 

S .     The    man   begged   his  pardon  and  left.     But  Walter  was 

not  lost  sight  of,  and  soon  after  returning  to  his  hotel  another  young 

man  accosted  him,  asking  him  if  he  was  from  S .     Walter  answered 

in  the  affirmative,  when  the  young  man  casually  asked  how  all  the 
good  people  were  in  that  section,  saying  that  he  used  to  go  there  often 
when  he  was  a  boy.  He  appeared  to  remember  the  people  as  Wal 
ter  spoke  of  them.  He  told  the  young  man,  his  name  and  from  time 
to  time  during  the  conversation  alluded  to  this  and  that  affair  that 
had  happened,  something  of  which  the  stranger  seemed  to  know. 
All  that  Walter  let  drop  was  carefully  treasured  up  for  future  use. 
Occasionally,  the  young  man  would  ask  about  some  person  of  whom 
Walter  had  unconsciously  spoken,  which  so  completely  threw  him  off 
his  guard  that  he  became  quite  confidential.  The  young  man  was 
asked  if  he  remembered  a  family  by  the  name  of  Dubrow.  He 
acknowledged  that  he  did  not.  But  he  gradually  drew  from  Walter 
enough  to  feel  sure  of  his  footing,  and  in  the  end  he  learned  all  he 
wished,  and  he  seemed  to  enter  into  Walter's  feelings  as  though  he 
were  a  brother.  After  awhile  Walter  asked  him  if  he  knew  Katy 
Freeman,  the  young  woman  he  was  in  search  of.  He  said  he  knew 
her  but  slightly.  But  he  was  well  acquainted  with  her  cousin,  a  young 
man  who  lived  quite  near,  and  he  would,  if  he  wished,  accompany 
him  to  the  place.  Walter  gladly  accepted  the  offer,  and  they  started 
out.  After  going  up  one  street  and  down  another,  they  turned 
sharply  around  a  corner  and  entered  a  kind  of  saloon,  where  there 
were  tables  and  chairs  scattered  around  promiscuously.  The  young 
man  went  up  to  the  counter  and  had  some  conversation  with  the  man 
behind  it.  Then  he  turned  and  went  out.  Soon  after  he  came  back, 
and  two  men  were  with  him.  One  of  them  was  a  tall,  dark  man, 


THREE    GENERATIONS.  1 7 

with  long  hair  and  heavy  whiskers,  and  the  other  was  a  short,  thick 
set,  bullet-headed  man,  smooth-shaven  but  with  short  red  hair.  The 
tall  man  told  Walter  that  the  man  he  wished  to  see  was  not  in.  He 
being  rather  under  the  weather  had  gone  to  his  room  two  blocks 
away.  But  if  he  would  like  to  see  him  he  would  accompany  him 
and  his  friend  to  the  place,  if  he  did  not  mind  the  walk.  The  idea 
of  Walter  Ivers  minding  a  walk  of  two  blocks  for  such  information 
as  he  expected  to  receive!  The  proposition  was  gladly  accepted, 
and  the  four  men  started  out  and  soon  came  to  rather  an  uninviting 
entrance  to  a  somewhat  dilapidated  house,  where  the  quartette  halted, 
and  the  tall  man  volunteered  to  go  up  stairs  and  see  if  his  friend  was  in. 
He  soon  came  down  and  motioned  to  his  comrades,  who  followed 
him  in,  and,  sure  enough,  they  found  a  man  who  seemed  to  be  some 
thing  of  an  invalid.  Two  bottles  of  wine  and  some  empty  glasses 
were  standing  on  the  table.  One  of  the  bottles  was  full,  while  the 
other  appeared  to  have  had  some  taken  out  of  it.  Walter  was  intro 
duced,  and  the  matter  of  his  visit  broached.  The  sick  man  admitted 
that  "  Katy  Freeman  "  was  his  cousin,  and  that  she  lived  in  the  coun 
try.  But  her  address  as  given  at  the  hotel  was  incorrect.  The  name 
of  the  post-office  was  much  the  same,  but  in  another  county.  Walter 
was  very  thankful  for  the  discovery  of  the  mistake,  and  so  expressed 
himself.  The  conversation  continued  for  some  time,  when  the  inva 
lid  excused  himself  for  not  inviting  them  to  have  a  glass  of  wine. 
Walter  thanked  them,  saying  he  seldom  drank.  But  they  insisted,  and 
at  last  he  consented,  each  filling  his  glass  and  drinking  to  the  success 

of  their  friend  from  S .     The  conversation  was  not  allowed  to  flag. 

Very  soon  Walter  became  drowsy,  and  finally  became  insensible, 
and  the  next  thing  he  knew  he  was  in  the  station-house,  taken  up,  it 
was  said,  for  having  been  found  drunk  in  the  street.  His  watch  and 
all  his  money  had  been  taken,  and  it  dawned  on  him  then  that  he 
had  been  duped  and  drugged  and  robbed. 

The  first  thing  for  him  to  do  was  to  get  released  from  the  meshes 
of  the  law.  It  was  then  that  his  father's  letter  came  to  mind.  He 
had  left  it  in  his  satchel  at  the  hotel.  An  officer  accompanied  him 
thither  to  get  it,  and  rather  unexpectedly  the  guardian  of  the  peace 
was  enabled  to  return  to  the  office  with  his  man,  and  the  letter,  which 


1 8  RA  :    OR, 

was  soon  delivered  to  its  proper  destination,  with  a  line  from  Walter 
telling  of  his  unfortunate  predicament. 

The  note  was  answered  immediately  in  person,  and  upon  the  as 
surance  of  Mr.  Sherwood  that  it  was  all  right,  Walter  was  allowed  to 
go  free.  At  the  same  time  the  young  man  was  invited  to  the  house 
of  his  father's  friend,  which  he  declined,  and  as  a  reason  he  said  he 
was  determined  to  go  to  the  country  the  next  day.  Mr.  Sherwood 
finding  that  he  was  determined,  advanced  him  what  money  he  re 
quired,  and  requested  him  to  call  when  he  should  return  to  the 
which  Walter  agreed  to  do. 

Bright  and  early  the  next  morning  our  much  disgusted  young 
friend  found  himself  at  the  stage  office,  and  when  the  coach  drew  up 
for  the  passengers  and  mail,  he  was  about  the  first  one  on  board. 
Having  engaged  an  outside  seat,  he  took  his  place  by  the  side  of  the 
driver.  Another,  quite  a  portly  gentleman,  sat  upon  the  same  seat, 
and  so  nearly  hid  him  from  view,  that  without  considerable  effort  he 
could  not  be  seen  by  any  one  upon  the  ground.  The  mail-bags  were 
lifted  up,  and  the  cry  "all  aboard  "  was  given,  and  away  the  six 
horses  started  upon  the  keen  jump,  which  was  kept  up  for  a  consider 
able  distance.  They  had  driven  perhaps  twelve  or  fifteen  miles, 
when  they  stopped  for  breakfast  and  to  change  horses.  The  passen 
gers  inside  turned  out  one  by  one,  and  shook  themselves  preparatory 
to  washing  for  breakfast. 

Walter  noticed  a  rather  slender  man  with  a  long  duster  get  out, 
and  it  did  not  take  long  for  him  to  think  where  he  had  seen  him. 
It  was  none  other  than  the  invalid  who  was  so  good  as  to  pledge 
him  a  glass  of  wine  two  days  before. 

Walter's  greatest  anxiety  now  was  to  keep  from  being  seen  by  his 
too-generous  friend.  He  had  every  reason  to  believe  that  his  destin 
ation  was  the  same  as  his  own,  but  he  kept  his  counsel  until  just  after 
the  stage  had  left  the  last  station  before  the  one  to  which  he  was 
booked.  Then  he  asked  the  driver  if  he  knew  the  slim  man  with  a 
long  duster  and  slouched  hat.  The  driver  said  he  thought  he  might 
be  one  of  the  light-fingered  gentry  of  New  York;  "at  any  rate,"  said  he, 
"I  think  he  will  bear  watching." 

This  was  sufficient,  and  when  the  stage  drew  up  at  the 
station  at  which  he  was  to  get  off,  the  slim  gentleman  was  out 


THREE    GENERATIONS.  19 

before  him.  Walter  clambered  down  the  opposite  side  of  the  coach 
and,  coming  around,  he  pounced  suddenly  upon  his  victim  before  he 
had  time  to  think  what  had  happened.  The  stranger  turned,  and 
the  moment  his  eyes  met  those  of  Walter,  he  grew  pale  and 
quailed  before  him  as  though  he  had  been  his  executioner. 

At  first  he  denied  his  identity.  But  Walter  called  upon  those 
present  to  assist  him  in  securing  the  robber.  He  declared  that 
he  believed  some  of  the  money  stolen  from  himself  might  then  be 
found  upon  him.  The  suspected  man  was  taken  into  the  station  and 
closely  watched  until  an  officer  could  be  found.  When  the  officer 
came  he  was  searched,  and  a  small  amount  of  money  was  found  upon 
his  person.  Walter  was  not  yet  satisfied,  and,  at  his  suggestion,  a 
second  search  was  made,  which  resulted  better.  Four  ten-dollar 
bills,  upon  the  very  bank  of  which  his  father  was  president  and  he 
himself  was  cashier,  was  found  between  the  outside  and  the  lining  of 
his  coat;  slipped  in  through  a  small  hole  in  the  lining,  made  by  some 
sharp  instrument.  The  proof  was  conclusive,  and  the  thief  was  held 
for  trial,  which  could  not  take  place  for  some  time,  much  to  Walter's 
disgust. 

The  prisoner  was  confined  in  the  county  jail  until  his  trial  should 
take  place,  and  it  was  at  Walter's  suggestion  that  he  should  not  be 
allowed  to  have  any  letters  mailed  unless  the  officer  first  read  them. 
The  very  day  after  he  was  confined  he  called  for  writing  materials, 
which  were  promptly  furnished  him.  His  letter  was  written  and 
sealed,  and  given  to  the  jailer  to  mail.  But  that  official  promptly 
gave  it  into  the  hands  of  the  Sheriff,  who  as  promptly  examined  its 
contents;  but  thought  advisable  to  retain  it  until  the  gentleman  for 
whom  it  was  intended  could  be  seen  by  a  detective  in  the  city; 
which  was  accordingly  done,  and  the  result  will  be  hereafter  ex- 
explained. 

It  did  not  take  long  for  Walter  to  learn  the  direction  to  be  taken 
to  reach  the  home  of  John  Freeman,  who  lived  scarcely  half  a 
mile  from  the  station,  and  thither  he  bent  his  steps.  He  gave  his 
name,  and  soon  made  known  his  errand.  Katy  was  introduced  to 
the  stranger.  She  proved  to  be  an  intelligent  young  woman,  and 
quite  prepossessing  in  her  appearance.  She  told-  Walter  what  had 
transpired  at  the  hotel,  of  the  difficulty  the  young  lady  had  in  elud- 


20  ENDURA:   OR, 

ing  her  father;  that  she  was  very  much  distressed,  and  told  her  many 
things  to  write  to  him,  a  great  deal  of  which  she  now  related.  Walter 
was  excited  and,  angered  at  what  he  had  heard  of  Dubrow,  more  at 
the  cruel  treatment  of  his  daughter  than  the  duplicity  and  perfidy  of 
his  actions  toward  himself;  he  then  mentally  determined  to  save 
Annette  at  any  cost. 

His  fear  that  her  father  might  put  her  in  a  convent,  when  they 
should  arrive  in  France,  made  him  more  cautious  than  he  otherwise 
would  have  been,  but  he  was  not  able  yet  to  understand  how  he 
could  communicate  with  her,  knowing,  as  he  did,  that  every  avenue 
would  be  watched  by  the  suspicious  Frenchman. 

His  interview  with  Katy  Freeman  gave  him  much  comfort,  and  it 
was  with  reluctance  that  he  left  the  home  of  the  good  farmer  to  return 
to  the  city.  After  arranging  with  Katy  to  write  to  him,  if  she  heard 
or  remembered  anything  that  she  thought  would  be  of  interest  to  him, 
he  took  his  departure. 


THREE    GENERATIONS.  21 


CHAPTER  III. 

SHIPWRECK. 

Her  planks  are  torn  asunder, 
And  down  comes  her  mast  with  a  reeling  shock, 
And  a  hideous  crash  like  thunder. 

Her  sails  are  draggled  in  the  brine, 

That  gladdened  late  the  skies ; 
And  her  pendant  that  kissed  the  fair  moonshine, 

Down  many  a  fathom  lies. 


—  Wilson. 


IT  was  Walter's  intention  to  return  home  immediately,  and  he 
would  have  done  so  but  for  an  extraordinary  event  which 
transpired,  and  some  startling  news  which  was  afloat  when  he  re 
turned  to  the  city.  The  newsboys  were  crying  extras,  with  full  ac 
counts  of  the  loss  of  the  packet  ship  "King  Philip,"  with  nearly  all  on 
board.  Only  two  persons  were  known  to  be  saved,  who  were  just 
brought  into  port  by  the  barque  "Good  Return."  The  "King  Philip'' 
being  the  very  ship  upon  which  Mr.  Dubrow  and  family  took  passage, 
Walter  was  greatly  agitated,  believing,  as  he  did,  that  his  darling  was 
lost  to  him  forever.  He  could  not  believe  for  one  moment  that  she 
could  have  been  one  of  the  saved.  Procuring  an  extra,  he  read  as 
follows: 

GREAT  CALAMITY. 

FEARFUL   SHIPWRECK,    AND  TERRIBLE  LOSS  OF    LIFE. 

Foundering  in  mid-ocean  of  the  packet  ship  "King  Philip,  "with  all 
on  board;  but  two  known  to  be  saved  out  of  a  total  of  one  hundred 
and  forty  souls. 

Arrival  of  the  barque  "Good  Return,"  with  two  of  the  shipwrecked 
passengers,  picked  up  at  sea  with  great  difficulty  the  day  after  the 
wreck.  Two  spars,  which  had  lain  upon  the  ship's  deck,  fastened  to 
gether  by  strong  hawsers,  were  the  means  of  saving  two  precious 
lives — one  a  young  lady  by  the  name  of  Dubrow,  and  the  other  a 
middle-aged  man  by  the  name  of  Waters.  The  young  lady,  with  her 
father  and  mother,  were  returning  home  to  France,  and  the  gentle 
man  was  on  his  way  to  Liverpool  upon  business.  The  family  of  the 


22  ENDURA:   OR, 

latter,  consisting  of  a  wife  and  two  children,  reside  in  this  city.  The 
young  lady,  it  is  believed  has  no  friends  in  this  country.  Some  steps 
will  be  taken  immediately  for  her  relief. 

GRAPHIC    ACCOUNT    OF    THE    DISASTER. 

The  " King  Philip "  sailed  from  this  port  September  loth,  with 
upwards  of  one  hundred  passengers  and  twenty-nine  officers  and 
crew.  All  went  well,  and  it  bid  fair  to  be  a  remarkably  quick  pas 
sage,  until  on  the  evening  of  the  2oth,  just  ten  days  out.  Already 
about  one-half  the  watery  waste  had  been  spanned,  when  the  indi 
cations  were  that  there  was  to  be  a  storm.  Everything  was  made 
taut,  and  every  precaution  taken  for  the  safety  of  the  ship  and 
her  precious  freight.  The  next  day  the  weather  became  more  threat 
ening,  and  that  night  the  storm  broke  upon  the  doomed  vessel  with  all 
its  fury.  The  good  ship,  staunch  and  apparently  as  unyielding  as 
her  tawny  namesake,  rode  easily  until  near  morning,  when  a  tre 
mendous  sea  broke  over  her  from  stem  to  stern.  Every  timber  in 
her  seemed  to  shiver  as  sea  after  sea  threatened  to  engulf  her. 
The  ship  had  scarcely  recovered  from  the  great  shock,  when  another 
tremendous  wave  struck  her  broadside,  carrying  away  almost  every  mov 
able  thing  upon  her  decks.  At  the  same  time  a  great  crash  was  heard, 
and  the  main  topmast  was  hanging  truck  downward.  Orders  were 
given  to  cut  away.  In  the  meanwhile  the  ship  fell  into  the  trough  of 
the  sea,  and  was  almost  upon  her  beam  ends.  She  did  not  right,  and 
it  was  soon  ascertained  that  her  rudder-head  had  been  completely 
wrenched  off,  so  that  she  lay  as  helpless  as  a  log.  The  few  spars 
on  deck  were  cut  away,  and  every  provision  for  the  safety  of  all 
which  could  be  made  was  made  immediately.  Soon  another  great 
sea  swept  over  her,  and  the  "  King  Philip  "  was  no  more. 

The  two  spars,  upon  which  three  passengers  clung,  arose  upon 
the  mountain  wave,  as  if  to  look  upon  the  scene  of  desolation;  but 
not  a  sound  was  heard  above  the  ocean's  roar.  One  of  the  three  pas 
sengers  lost  his  hold  upon  the  spars,  and  not  being  able  again  to 
reach  them,  he  soon  "joined  those  upon  that  shore,  where  storms 
do  not  arise."  The  other  two,  clinging  to  the  ropes  which  held 
the  timbers  together,  so  remained,  until  discovered  the  next  day, 
when  they  were  rescued  by  the  "Good  Return." 


THREE    GENERATIONS.  23 

Then  followed  a  list  of  the  passengers,  with  the  names  of  the  cap 
tain,  officers  and  crew,  in  all  just  one  hundred  and  forty  souls. 

The  great  calamity  seemed  to  be  upon  every  mind,  and  in  every 
mouth.  Walter  hurried  to  the  wharf  where  the  passengers  of  the 
"  Good  Return  "  were  expected  to  land;  but  none  had  come  ashore 
as  yet.  Procuring  a  boat,  he  was  not  long  in  reaching  the  ship's  side. 
He  soon  learned  that  the  party  for  whom  he  inquired  had  gone 
ashore  an  hour  before.  Backward,  as  fast  as  strong  arms  could  pull 
him,  he  hastened,  and  immediately  went  to  the  Knickerbocker  Hotel, 
where  he  learned  that  Miss  Dubrow  had  arrived  a  short  time  before; 
but  that  she  was  perfectly  prostrated,  and  could  see  no  one.  Walter 
sent  his  card,  requesting  that  they  should  only  mention  his  name, 
and  if  she  did  not  express  a  wish  to  see  him  at  once,  he  would  not 
insist  on  doing  so.  Scarcely  five  minutes  elapsed  before  the  mes 
senger  returned,  saying  that  Miss  Dubrow  would  see  the  gentleman 
immediately. 

Walter  could  scarcely  restrain  himself,  but,  with  as  much  calmness 
as  he  could  command,  he  went  to  her  room,  and,  falling  on  his 
knees  by  the  bedside,  he  clasped  his  precious  treasure  to  his  bosom, 
without  uttering  one  word,  kissing  her  over  and  over,  while  tears  of 
joy  rained  from  both.  At  last  he  whispered,  "  Darling,  once  more 
in  my  arms,  never  to  part  again!" 

We  must  leave  them  for  a  time,  and  look  after  those  who  require 
our  attention  more;  those  who  will  not  greet  the  young  New  Englander 
quite  so  cordially. 

Through  the  means  of  the  letter  written  by  the  young  man  in 
limbo,  in  the  country,  two  of  his  companions  were  arrested  and  con 
fined  in  the  city  prison,  failing  as  they  did  to  secure  bail.  The  name 
of  the  one  who  took  the  trip  in  the  country  upon  the  same 
stage  with  Walter  was  Charley  Jackson — at  least,  that  was  the  name 
he  gave.  He  signed  his  letter  "Charley." 

One  of  the  other  two  was  the  tall  dark  man  who  sported  a  full 
beard  and  long  hair  at  the  time  he  so  cordially  bade  Walter  God-speed. 
He  was  now  shorn  of  his  locks  and  clean  shaven.  He  said  his  name 
was  John  Willis,  and  that  he  should  be  able  to  prove  an  alibi.  The 
other,  Mr.  Ballard  Jones,  could  not  be  mistaken,  though  his  name 
was  rather  a  misnomer.  It  should  have  been  Bullethead  Jones,  or 


24  ENDURA  :    OR, 

any  other  name  would  have  done  as  well  after  Bullethead.  The 

young  gentleman  who  knew  so  much  about  S could  not  be  found; 

doubtless  he  was  as  well  posted  about  other  sections  of  the  country 
before  long,  and  it  may  be,  felt  more  secure  than  he  would  around 
his  old  haunts.  The  preliminary  examinations  were  had,  and  the 
counsel  for  the  prisoners  did  their  best  to  put  off  the  final  trial  of 
the  case  until  Walter  should  return  home.  The  Prosecuting  Attorney 
as  strenuously  insisted  that  it  was  great  injustice  to  the  young  man 
who  had  been  robbed,  as  well  as  an  unnecessary  expense  to  the 
Commonwealth,  to  continue  a  case  as  aggravating  as  the  one  before 
them. 

The  trial  was  finally  set  for  the  next  term  of  court,  and  Walter 
made  immediate  arrangements  for  returning  home. 

The  day  following,  when  our  young  friend  was  packing,  prepara 
tory  to  leaving,  he  received  a  card  from  a  lady  who  awaited  him  in 
the  parlor.  He  could  not  surmise  what  any  lady  wanted  of  him,  but 
he  went  down  immediately,  and  met  a  most  beautiful  woman,  who 
apologized  for  disturbing  him.  She  said  she  was  the  sister  of  the 
unfortunate  young  man  by  the  name  of  Jackson,  who  was  then  under 
arrest,  and  that  she  had  come  to  see  what  could  be  done  about  the 
matter.  She  insisted  that  her  brother  was  a  most  excellent  young 
man,  who  had  fallen  into  bad  company  and  been  led  astray;  that  an 
aged  mother  was  dependent  upon  him,  beside  the  disgrace  which  his 
conviction  would  bring  upon  the  family;  though  she  could  not  blame 
him  for  feeling  as  he  did  toward  the  gang  who  had  robbed  him,  but 
every  dollar  should  be  refunded  to  him.  In  fact  she  proposed  to 
give  him  $1,000,  if  he  would  go  away  and  not  appear  against  her 
brother.  Said  she :  "  You  are  the  only  one  who  has  been  injured 
or  lost  anything  by  him,  and  it  would  be  a  noble  act  not  to  prosecute 
him;  but  if  you  do,  you  will  not  recover  a  penny." 

Walter  told  her  he  was  sorry  for  her  brother,  but  that  the  law  would 
not  allow  him  to  compromise  a  felony,  if  he  were  ever  so  much 
inclined  to  do  so  for  her  sake. 

The  woman  said  the  lesson  which  her  brother  had  received  was  a 
severe  one,  and  that  if  he  were  allowed  to  go  free  he  would  certainly 
do  better,  and  it  lay  with  him  (Walter)  whether  he  should  have  the 
opportunity  to  do  so  or  not.  She  said  her  brother,  as  well  as  herself, 


THREE    GENERATIONS.  25 

would  feel  everlastingly  grateful  if  he  would  consent  to  do  that  one 
kind  act.  Walter  was  still  obdurate;  in  fact,  he  was  getting  impatient 
and  wished  the  woman  would  take  her  leave.  At  this  juncture,  per 
ceiving  that  she  had  made  but  little  impression  on  the  young  man, 
she  changed  her  tactics. 

After  displaying  her  charms  to  the  best  advantage — for  well  she 
knew  how — and  using  all  the  blandishments  she  could  command, 
she  intimated  that  she  knew  something  of  his  life,  at  the  same  time 
alluding  to  his  lady-love,  and  her  miraculous  escape  from  death,  and 
how  thankful  he  ought  to  be.  She  said  she  was  not  so  fortunate; 
she  too  had  a  very  dear  friend  on  that  ill-fated  ship,  who  was  lost  to 
her  forever.  With  that  she  appeared  to  be  perfectly  overcome,  and 
fainted.  He  raised  her  up  and  placed  her  upon  the  sofa,  when  she 
soon  came  to,  sobbing  bitterly.  He  tried  to  soothe  her,  but  with 
little  effect.  Seeming  to  remember  herself,  at  length,  she  looked 
up  so  lovingly  with  her  great,  tear-filled  eyes,  that  his  heart  almost 
failed  him.  He  said  he  would  call  for  assistance,  but  she  begged 
him  not  to  do  so  for  the  world,  as  she  could  not  well  explain  herself 
to  any  one  just  then.  Walter  was  getting  very  uneasy  in  the  position 
he  was  occupying  in  the  public  parlor  of  a  hotel  with  a  lady  weeping, 
and  apparently  in  great  distress.  The  situation  was  very  embarrass 
ing  for  a  young  man  as  unsophisticated  as  Walter  Ivers. 

Suddenly  the  door  opened,  at  the  same  instant  the  woman  gave  a 
scream,  and  seemed  to  be  in  the  act  of  disengaging  herself  from  the 
young  man.  Her  eyes  flashed,  and  her  hair  was  disheveled,  and  her 
dress  disarranged. 

She  begged  to  be  protected,  asserting  that  that  man  had  attempted 
improper  liberties  with  her,  which  she  had  successfully  resisted,  al 
though  she  claimed  to  be  badly  bruised  and  hurt  by  his  brutal  assault. 
She  demanded  that  he  be  arrested  at  once. 

Walter  was  struck  dumb  by  the  sudden  transformation  of  an  angel 
into  a  fiend.  He  recovered  his  self-possession  enough  to  try  and 
explain,  but  in  the  meantime  an  officer  had  entered  who  took  him  in 
charge.  Once  more  he  had  to  ask  the  assistance  of  his  father's 
friend  to  bail  him  out  of  prison.  The  case  was  to  come  up  the  next 
day,  and  Walter  was  asked  if  he  wished  counsel.  He  answered  in 


26 


ENDURA  :    OR, 


the  negative;  but  at  the  suggestion  of  his  friend  he  consented,  and 
Mr.  Sherwood  sent  for  his  own  attorney  to  manage  the  case. 

The  woman  was  called  and  sworn.  She  said  she  called  at  the 
hotel  to  see  the  gentleman  upon  some  private  business,  when  he  met 
her  and  they  conversed  for  a  time.  He,  in  the  meanwhile  made 
some  improper  overtures  to  her,  which  she  indignantly  resented. 
When  he  laid  his  hand  upon  her,  she  resisted  with  all  her  might,  and 
finally  screamed,  which  brought  assistance.  She  showed  how  her 
clothes  had  been  torn,  and  told  how  very  lame  and  sore  she  felt  from 
his  rough  usage. 

When  her  direct  testimony  was  through,  the  attorney  for  the  de 
fense  commenced  to  cross-examine.  He  asked  where  she  lived; 
what  she  did  for  a  living,  what  was  the  particular  business  with 
the  defendant  which  called  her  to  the  hotel.  These  being  followed 
by  more  pointed  and  significant  questions,  her  attorney  could  not 
do  less  than  object.  The  questions  themselves  were  not  so  bad,  but, 
if  answered  truly,  they  would  have  been  very  damaging.  The  de 
fendant's  counsel  continued  to  press  her  quite  hard,  and  she  broke 
down  completely,  and  could  not,  or  would  not,  answer,  so  she  was 
excused. 

Walter  then  took  the  stand  and  told  his  story.  When  he  was 
through,  the  Prosecuting  Attorney  asked  him  how  long  he  had  been 
in  the  city,  and  what  he  had  been  doing.  He  asked  him  if  he  had 
not  been  mixed  up  with  a  notorious  gang  of  counterfeiters  and  black 
legs,  as  well  as  many  more  questions  quite  irrelevant  and  insulting, 
all  of  which  were  answered  in  a  plain,  straightforward  manner. 

When  the  lawyer  was  through,  Walter's  counsel  arose  and  asked 
that  his  client  be  acquitted.  And  he  showed  conclusively,  and  to 
the  satisfaction  of  the  Court,  that  he  had  been  the  victim  of  base 
frauds,  the  last,  attempted  by  one  of  the  most  notorious  confi 
dence  women  in  the  city ;  a  wretched  creature,  who  had  already 
served  out  one  term  in  the  penitentiary  for  just  such  an  attempt  at 
fraud  and  confidence  game  she  had  tried  to  practice  upon  his  client; 
failing  in  which  she  determined  to  ruin  him.  She  could  not  buy  him 
off  so  that  he  might  not  appear  against  her  lover,  who  was  one  of  the 
lowest  of  the  low.  She  attempted  to  disgrace  him  in  the  mind  of 
his  affianced,  and  in  the  eyes  of  the  world.  He  said  she  belonged 


THREE    GENERATIONS.  27 

to  a  class  who  were  out-lawed,  "and  yet"  said  he,  "she  dares  to  come 
into  a  court  of  justice  to  prosecute  and  persecute  the  innocent." 

He  closed  by  saying  that  the  city  had  already  an  unenviable 
reputation  abroad — so  much  so,  that  strangers  were  constantly 
cautioned  against  just  such  characters,  and  it  was  high  time  an 
example  was  made  of  some  of  them.  Closing,  he  sat  down,  and  the 
Judge,  a  very  conservative  gentleman,  admitted  the  truthfulness  of 
his  remarks,  and  said  he  would  be  glad  to  punish  any  such  breaches 
of  the  peace  with  all  the  severity  the  law  would  allow. 

Just  then  a  detective  entered  and  presented  a  paper  to  the  Judge, 
whereupon  he  was  authorized  to  arrest  her  at  once,  which  he  did, 
he  having  had  the  warrant  for  her  arrest  in  his  possession  for  some 
days.  She  was  taken  to  the  lock-up,  where  she  will  be  safe  for  a 
time,  at  least. 

Walter  hurried  back  to  the  hotel,  where  he  found  Annette  in  great 
distress  at  his  prolonged  absence.  All  was  finally  explained,  and  the 
next  day  he  left  for  his  home  with  his  affianced  wife,  which  was  reached 
in  about  two  days.  Walter  had  written  to  his  father  two  or  three  times, 
but  not  since  Annette's  return,  and,  of  course,  the  surprise  was  great, 
though  they  had  not  yet  heard  of  the  terrible  shipwreck,  with  all  its 
attendant  horrors. 

Of  course,  the  old  people  were  overjoyed  at  the  return  of  their  son, 
and  it  may  as  well  be  admitted  that  they  were  almost  equally 
delighted  to  think  he  had  brought  his  wife  with  him;  for  they 
had  come  to  believe  that  Annette  was  really  one  of  the  family ;  and 
then  her  great  trials,  and  the  fearful  ordeal  through  which  she  had 
passed,  endeared  her  to  them  still  more.  Everything  was  done  for 
her  comfort,  and  to  make  her  happy,  that  it  was  possible  to  do,  both 
by  Walter  and  by  the  old  Squire  and  his  good  wife. 

But  there  were  evil  minds  in  S ,  and  evil  tongues,  too.  When 

it  became  known  that  Walter  Ivers  had  got  home,  all  sorts  of  specula 
tions  were  rife,  and  the  one  who  could  invent  the  most  outrageous 
stories  was  the  hero  of  the  hour. 


28  ENDURA:   OR 


CHAPTER  IV. 

SOME    CHARACTERS. 

"  Who  stabs  my  name  would  stab  my  person  too, 
Did  not  the  hangman's  axe  lie  in  the  way." 

— Crown's  Henry  VII. 

NOT  many  days  after  his  return  there  happened  to  be  a  quilting 
party  at  Mrs.  Tartar's.  Now,  Mrs.  Tartar  was  a  widow  who 
had  a  son  who  was  a  swaggering  fellow,  who  had  been  taught  to 
believe  he  was  of  considerable  importance,  and  evidently  considered 
himself  quite  a  catch,  as  he  was  an  only  son.  His  father  had  been 
well  to  do,  and  left  most  of  his  property  to  him,  willing  something 
to  his  widow,  besides  the  personal  property  and  some  money  in  bank. 
Joe  Tartar  had  never  been  a  favorite  with  Annette,  and  he 
was  perfectly  willing  to  listen  to  anything  that  was  said  to  her  dis 
credit.  Mrs.  Tartar's  name  was  Thankful.  Possibly  her  parents  did 
not  like  the  name  of  Tartar,  but  would  have  it  appear  that  they  were 
thankful  it  was  no  worse. 

Early  in  the  afternoon  upon  the  day  of  the  quilting  the  guests 
began  to  arrive.  First  came  Mrs.  Cramp  and  her  daughter,  accom 
panied  by  Miss  Cutting,  a  lady  of  an  uncertain  age,  who  had  refused 
no  one  knew  how  many  eligible  offers.  Then  came  two  young 
misses  by  the  name  of  Brown — Deborah  and  Hannah.  Old  Mrs. 
Maxon  came  in  later  with  two  of  her  nieces,  daughters  of  a  farmer 
by  the  name  of  Jenks — Patty  and  Betsey.  There  was  quite  a  number 
of  others  who  came  in  to  help  awhile  during  the  afternoon,  who 
were  obliged  to  leave  in  time  to  get  supper  for  their  husbands  and 
family.  It  is  just  as  well  that  they  left;  for  they  were  scarcely  spoken 
to  while  they  were  there,  and,  as  they  did  not  have  much  to  say, 
we  shall  not  miss  them. 

Now,  the  Brown  girls  were  considered  nice,  modest  young  ladies. 
They  had  not  been  in  society  long  enough  to  become  garrulous,  and 
they  had  not  associated  with  disappointad  old  maids  enough  to  be- 


THREE    GENERATIONS.  29 

come  chronic  men-haters.  The  Jenks  girls  were  somewhat  older, 
and  they  had  never  missed  a  party  when  they  could  prevail  upon  their 
aunt  to  accompany  them.  Mrs.  Maxon  was  a  sort  of  dependent 
upon  farmer  Jenks,  having  lost  her  husband  who  left  her  nothing  but 
unpaid  bills  which  he  owed ;  so  that,  having  no  children  of  her  own, 
she  quite  naturally  took  to  her  nieces,  and  from  their  childhood  had 
been  a  kind  of  second  mother  to  them.  The  care  she  had  taken  of 
the  children  had  been  an  offset  to  her  board,  and  in  as  much  as  Mr. 
and  Mrs.  Jenks  were  usually  tired  enough  to  stay  at  home  when  night 
came,  the  aunt  was  allowed  to  chaperon  them  when  they  went  out. 

At  first  the  young  men  would  offer  to  accompany  them  home,  but 
they  declined,  saying  their  aunt  \vas  with  them,  or  that  papa  would 
call  for  them  at  the  proper  time.  After  a  while  the  offers  of  the  young 
men  became  less  and  less  frequent,  until  no  young  gentleman  thought 
of  such  a  thing  as  offering  his  company  to  one  of  the  Jenks  girls. 
Indeed,  it  began  to  be  whispered  about  that  they  were  passe  already, 
and  would  soon  figure  as  old  maids. 

Now  Mrs.  Tartar  had  made  great  preparations  for  this  quilting, 
and  among  others  she  had  invited  the  wife  of  the  minister,  a  poor 
little  hard-worked  woman,  with  three  children.  Her  husband,  Elder 
Knocks,  was  a  carpenter  by  trade,  and  .could  have  made  a  fair  living 
for  his  family  had  it  not  been  for  his  duties  as  a  preacher  of  the 
gospel.  He  was  called  to  every  sick-bed,  when  the  doctors  failed; 
he  preached  every  Sunday,  and  sometimes  three  or  four  times  during 
the  week;  he  married  people,  for  which  he  received  a  dollar,  or 
a  bushel  of  corn;  he  attended  funerals,  for  which  he  got  nothing  but 
his  dinner,  which  was  made  great  account  of  upon  such  occasions. 
Occasionally  he  would  receive  two  or  three  dollars  from  one  of  the 
rich  men  of  the  congregation.  The  women  sometimes  gave  their 
cast-off  clothing  to  Mrs.  Knocks,  which  she  was  expected  to  make 
over  for  herself,  or  the  children;  and  yet,  with  all  these  munificent 
donations,  he  could  scarcely  support  his  family.  Of  course,  Mrs. 
Knocks  could  scarcely  be  expected  to  attend  the  quilting,  and,  being 
absent,  she  came  in  for  a  good  share  of  gossip. 

Mrs.  Tartar  could  not  see,  for  the  life  of  her,  why  she  did  not  get 
along;  only  last  week  she  had  sent  her  a  bushel  of  potatoes,  and  Mr. 
Cribbe  had  sent  her  a  beautiful  pumpkin  and  some  turnips. 


30  ENDURA :     OR, 

Mrs.  Cramp  said  she  believed  she  was  a  shiftless  critter,  while  old 
Mrs.  Maxon  rather  took  her  part.  Miss  Cutting  said  she  thought 
just  as  Mrs.  Tartar  did;  that  something  must  be  wrong.  She  said 
she  had  always  been  able  to  take  care  of  herself,  and  she  should  be 
glad  to  know  what  a  man  was  good  for  if  he  could  not  support  his 
wife. 

Said  Mrs.  Cramp:  "I'm  told  its  jes'  so,  where  they  pay  'em 
regalar  wages,  as  much  as  four  or  five  hundred  dollars  a  year,  and  it 
is  scandalous.  Religion  is  coming  to  a  pretty  pass  when  we  have  to 
buy  it,  the  same  as  we  do  flour  and  caliker.  It  did  n't  use  to  be  so, 
when  I  was  young." 

Deborah  Brown  suggested  that  possibly  they  were  not  all  carpen 
ters  there,  which  seemed  to  put  quite  a  damper  upon  that  subject 
for  the  present. 

But  another  one  nearly  as  important  came  up.  Old  Eben  Rail 
kept  quite  a  number  of  fox-hounds,  and  recently  there  had  been  some 
sheep  killed  in  the  neighborhood,  and,  very  naturally,  the  mischief 
was  laid  to  "Old  Ebe's  dogs."  Mrs.  Tartar  said  it  was  shameful  for 
a  man  to  keep  three  or  four  great,  lop-eared,  hungry  hounds,  to  de 
stroy  his  neighbor's  sheep;  and  that  he  ought  to  be  complained  of,  and 
made  to  pay  for  the  damage.  Some  one  ventured  to  ask  if  it  was 
known  that  Mr.  Rail's  dogs  killed  the  sheep;  whereupon,  a  majority 
joined  in  chorus,  saying  the  sheep  had  been  killed,  and  if  his  dogs 
did  not  kill  them,  whose  did  ? 

That  last  question  was  a  poser,  and  some  other  subject  coming  up, 
the  sheep  were  forgotten  for  the  time  being.  Old  Mr.  Josselyn  had 
lost  a  cow — been  choked  with  a  potato,  or  something  else.  Mrs. 
Cramp  said  it  was  "jest  good  enough  for  him,"  to  lose  his  cow,  as  he 
had  turned  his  cattle  into  a  field  where  there  had  been  potatoes. 

Some  one  said  he  did  not  lose  his  cow,  for  he  had  fattened  her, 
and  was  about  ready  to  butcher  her,  when  she  swallowed  the  potato, 
so  he  cut  her  throat,  and  put  her  out  of  her  misery,  and  she  made 
splendid  beef. 

Miss  Cutting  wanted  to  know  if  they  would  dare  offer  such  meat 
for  sale.  She  said  there  might  be  a  law  against  it.  Mrs.  Cramp 
said  she  heard  Deacon  Snow  say  "there  was  a  law  agin  sellin'  dead 
calves,"  and  she  would  like  to  know  if  dead  calves  "was  enny  wuss 


THREE    GENERATIONS.  31 

than  dead  cows."  No  one  seemed  able  to  answer  the  question;  and 
so  the  dead  cow  was  forgotten. 

One  of  the  Jenks  girls  happened  to  mention,  just  then,  that  Walt. 
Ivers  had  got  home,  and  brought  his  wife  with  him.  Mrs.  Tartar, 
who  had  not  said  much  for  a  few  minutes,  broke  in:  "Wife,  indeed! 
who  believes  that  she  is  his  wife  ?  Call  her  his  mistress,  and  you'll 
come  nearer  to  it,  I  guess." 

"Well,  I  should  think  so,"  chimed  in  Miss  Cutting. 

"And  that  reminds  me,"  said  Mrs.  Tartar,  "that  I  heard  a 
dreadful  story  about  that  young  scapegrace.  Somebody  saw  it  in 
the  papers;  how  he  tried  to  take  liberties  with  some  woman  in  the 
hotel  where  he  was  stopping.  She  screamed,  and  people  rushed  in, 
and  the  officers  came,  and  he  was  arrested  and  taken  to  jail.  It 
had  been  kept  mighty  quiet,"  but  she  believed  it  was  true,  because 
it  was  in  the  papers. 

Mrs.  Cramp  corroborated  the  story.  She  said  Deacon  Garner  told 
her  all  about  it,  and  that  it  was  awful.  She  believed,  if  the  truth 
could  be  known,  that  Walt.  Ivers  had  something  to  do  with  the 
breaking  up  of  the  Dubrow  family.  She  said  there  had  been  a  great 
deal  of  underhanded  work  about  the  whole  matter. 

Mrs.  Tartar  congratulated  herself  upon  having  purchased  at  the 
sale  one  or  two  pieces  of  silver,  upon  which  were  engraved  some 
queer  letters,  and  something  over  them  like  a  crown. 

One  of  the  Jenks  girls  said  she  had  heard  that  the  Dubrow's  were 
some  great  things  in  the  old  country,  and  that  they  came  here  to  get 
away  from  Bonaparte.  She  believed  they  called  Mrs.  Dubrow  a  Mar 
chioness,  or  something  of  the  kind. 

"A  Marchioness,  indeed!"  said  Miss  Cramp,  "I  saw  her,  and  she 
looked  like  a  very  common  woman;  and  as  for  Dubrow,  he  did  not 
look  unlike  old  Rivers,  the  miller." 

Miss  Cutting  said  she  had  heard  that  Walter  Ivers  had  been  ordered 
out  of  Dubrow's  house,  so  he  told  his  father  he  had  been  insulted  and 
the  Squire  threatened  to  sue  them  if  they  did  not  pay  up  imme 
diately;  and  that  was  why  they  had  been  obliged  to  part  with  their 
valuables. 

Mrs.  Tartar  said,  for  her  part,  she  could  not  see  why  Squire  Ivers 
indulged  that  boy  so  much.  She  said  he  would  surely  bring  the  old 


32  ENDURA  I    OR, 

man's  grey  hairs  to  the  grave,  with  sorrow,  and  that  he  would  have  no 
one  to  blame  but  himself. 

"Yes,  he  will,"  broke  in  Miss  Cramp,  "  for  Mrs.  Ivers  is  just  as 
foolish  as  the  old  man,  and  indulges  him  just  as  much." 

Miss  Cutting  ventured  to  say  that  Mrs.  Ivers  thought  there  never 
was  anybody  like  Walter. 

Mrs.  Tartar  said,  "Oh,  yes,  some  folk's  geese  are  all  swans." 
But  she  guessed  such  people  would  have  their  eyes  opened  some 
time. 

They  went  into  a  lengthy  controversy  regarding  the  rising  represen 
tative  of  the  Ivers  family.  Mrs.  Tartar  said  she  was  thankful  that 
her  son  was  not  like  him,  and,  for  her  part,  she  was  glad  they 
did  not  associate.  Just  then  Joe  Tartar  came  in.  He  had  been 
gone  since  the  night  before.  He  had  an  untidy,  debauched  look, 
and  acted  very  cross  and  impudent  to  his  mother. 

He  said  he  wanted  something  to  eat  pretty  d — d  quick,  for  he 
had  to  go  out.  Tim  Mouser  was  waiting  for  him  to  go  to  the 
turkey-shooting  at  the  cross-roads.  His  mother  tried  to  persuade 
him  to  stay  and  have  tea  with  them.  She  said  the  Jenks  girls  were 
there  and  had  asked  for  him. 

"  Yes,"  he  added,  "and  that  d — d  old  fool  of  an  aunt,  I  sup 
pose." 

"No,"  said  he,  "I  don't  want  none  of  it  in  mine." 

"  But  why  in  h — 11  don't  you  get  me  something  to  eat?" 

At  that  moment  Betsy  Jenks  came  in.  Joe  barely  spoke  to  her, 
and  then  went  on  talking  in  a  coarse,  vulgar  strain,  much  to  the 
chagrin  and  mortification  of  his  mother,  who  tried  in  vain  to  quiet 
him;  but  nothing  would  please  him,  so  he  jammed  his  hat  down  over 
his  eyes,  and,  with  an  oath,  went  out,  slamming  the  door  rudely  and 
angrily  as  he  went. 

Mrs.  Tartar  went  into  the  room  where  the  quilting  was  being  done, 
and  told  her  friends  she  was  afraid  Joseph  would  be  sick.  "He 
was  always  so  gentle,  but  to-day  he  was  quite  rude.  Really,  I  was 
almost  ashamed  of  him,  in  the  presence  of  Betsy  Jenks,  too; 
I  should  have  thought  he  would  have  behaved  different.  But/' 
vhe  added,  "  you  must  not  mind  him,  Betsy,  he  is  not  always 
like  that.  He  just  talks  that  way  some  times,  but  he  don't  mean 


THREE    GENERATIONS.  35 

anything.  He  would  not  hurt  a  fly.  Poor  boy,  he  inherited 
his  father's  temper.  But  Peter  Tartar  was  a  good  man,  for  all  that, 
and  it  was  a  great  loss  when  he  was  taken  from  us.  But,"  said  she, 
"my  loss  was  his  gain."  And  there  were  some  present  who  thought 
so,  too. 

It  was  getting  late,  and  tea  was  about  ready,  so  the  gossiping  con 
vention  adjourned  preparatory  to  going  to  the  table.  In  the  mean 
time,  Deacon  Snow  came  in,  and  Mrs.  Tartar  could  do  no  less  than 
ask  him  to  stay  to  tea,  hoping  and  expecting  he  would  refuse. 
But,  when  he  began  to  make  excuses,  and  to  say  that  his  clothes 
didn't  look  well  enough,  and  that  he  needed  shaving,  "  But  you  know 
Mrs.  Tartar  I've  got  better  clothes,"  she  looked  as  though  she  wished 
he  had  them  there,  or,  what  would  have  suited  her  far  better,  that  he 
had  been  where  his  clothes  were.  He  was  in  no  hurry  to  go,  how 
ever,  and  dirt  begrimed  and  coatless  as  he  was,  there  appeared  no  al 
ternative  but  that  he  must  sit  down  with  them;  and  as  it  had  been 
customary  when  he  was  dressed  up  to  have  him  ask  a  blessing  at  the 
table,  the  ceremony  could  not  well  be  omitted  now;  so,  when  they 
were  all  seated  around  the  table,  Deacon  Snow  stood  back  of  his  chair 
with  both  hands  upon  it,  with  his  mouth  watering  for  the  good  things 
before  him,  and  made  a  long  prayer  asking  God  for  a  thousand 
things  which  he  did  not  need  nor  expect  to  get;  most  of  which  bless 
ings,  as  he  called  them,  would  have  been  perfectly  superfluous,  and 
he  would  not  have  known  what  to  have  done  with  them  if  he  had 
had  them.  But  long  prayers,  like  all  else,  must  have  an  end;  at  all 
events  Deacon  Snow's  had.  After  several  unsatisfactory  efforts  to  round 
it  off,  he  finally  came  to  the  Amen.  Stillness  reigned  for  the  space  of 
half  a  minute.  It  was  heavenly;  something  like  the  time  we  read  of 
when  "there  was  silence  for  the  space  of  half  an  hour";  and  women 
were  there  too,  it  is  supposed;  or  perhaps,  a  better  simile  would  be, 
when  a  thousand  machines  cease  for  a  time  and  then  all  begin  again 
anew. 

Mrs.  Tartar  was  the  first  to  be  heard.  She  said  she  hoped  that 
everybody  would  help  themselves,  and  if  there  was  anything  they 
wanted  out  of  their  reach  to  ask  for  it. 

The  table  that  was  groaning  with  the  weight  of  good  things  soon 
ceased  to  groan,  and  it  was  not  long  before  some  who  sat  around  it 


34  ENDURA:  OR, 

began  to  do  the  groaning  themselves.  The  Deacon's  waistcoat  was  al 
together  too  small,  and  it  was  getting  exceedingly  warm  for  the  season 
of  the  year,  and  this  before  the  substantial  were  through  with. 

By  and  by  the  dessert  was  brought — plum  puddings,  mince  pies, 
custard  pies,  apple  pies,  pumpkin  pies,  cakes  and  cookies.  One 
after  another  declined  having  any,  and  Mrs.  Tartar  said  she  was  sorry 
she  didn't  have  something  better.  The  Deacon,  doubtless  for  fear  of 
displeasing  her,  shook  out  another  reef,  and  sampled  the  pudding  and 
two  or  three  of  the  pies,  when,  reluctant  as  he  was  to  give  up,  there 
were  no  more  buckles  to  loose,  and  he  was  obliged  to  say  he  could 
eat  no  more.  The  announcement  gave  entire  satisfaction,  and  they 
all  withdrew,  much  more  quiet  than  when  they  came  into  the  supper- 
room. 

Doubtless,  like  hungry  birds,  they  sang  the  best  empty.  They  were 
absolutely  too  full  for  utterance,  and  Deacon  Snow  would  have  been 
glad  to  have  had  a  snooze;  but  it  was  not  to  be.  They  had  scarcely 
withdrawn  from  the  table  when  a  neighbor  came  post-haste  with  the 
dreadful  news  that  Joe  Tartar  had  shot  a  man,  with  whom  he  had  a 
quarrel,  and  that  the  man  was  dying,  and  Joe  had  been  arrested  for 
an  attempt  at  murder.  Mrs.  Tartar  was  so  much  shocked  that  she 
did  not  know  what  she  was  doing.  She  kept  crying  out:  "  My  poor 
boy,  my  poor  boy,  what  will  become  of  him!"  Deacon  Snow  went 
immediately  to  Squire  Ivers,  to  see  what  had  better  be  done.  The 
old  gentleman  concluded  it  would  be  best  to  get  some  one  to  go  on 
his  bond,  He  suggested  to  the  Deacon  that  he  had  better  get  Mr. 
Jenks,  and  they  two  would  be  sufficient.  The  Deacon  declined.  He 
said  he  was  afraid  that  Joe  Tartar  was  a  bad  man,  and  he  did  not 
feel  like  taking  any  chances  on  such  a  scapegrace.  They  sent  for 
Mr.  Jenks,  who  said  he  would  be  bail  for  the  young  man,  if  Squire 
Ivers  would  go  on  the  bond  with  him.  It  was  finally  so  arranged, 
and  the  would-be  homicide  was  set  at  liberty  to  await  the  result  of  the 
wound,  which  was  said  to  be  very  severe,  if  not  fatal. 

It  appeared,  upon  the  examination,  that  Joe  Tartar  went  direct 
from  his  mother's  house  to  the  place  appointed  for  the  turkey-shoot 
ing,  and  met  a  man  from  a  distant  town  who  had  come  to  witness 
the  sport.  He  did  not  like  the  bullying  way  Joe  had  with  him,  and 
hinted  that  he  took  some  unfair  advantages,  which  Joe  resented,  and 


THREE   GENERATIONS.  35 

attempted  to  strike  him.  The  man  warded  off  the  blow,  and  almost 
as  quickly  knocked  Joe  down.  This  so  infuriated  him  that  when  he 
got  up  he  seized  a  gun  which  was  near  him,  and  fired,  the  charge 
taking  effect  in  his  left  hip.  The  man  fell,  and  Joe,  supposing  of 
course  that  he  had  killed  him,  attempted  to  run  away,  but  was 
caught,  and  had  his  hands  tied  behind  him,  and  taken  into  the 
house,  where  his  mother  found  him  two  hours  later.  Just  before  his 
bondsmen  came  to  release  him,  Mrs.  Tartar  consulted  Squire  Ivers  as 
to  who  would  be  the  best  lawyer  for  her  to  engage.  After  some  dis 
cussion,  it  was  decided  that  she  should  try  to  get  Judge  Fairfax,  one 
of  the  most  effective  pleaders  in  the  State.  She  immediately  sent 
post-haste  to  the  city  to  secure  his  services. 

Mr.  Wilcox,  the  man  who  was  shot,  lay  in  an  unconscious  state  for 
some  time,  under  the  influence  of  opiates,  while  the  wound  was 
dressed.  For  days  he  lingered  between  life  and  death.  Once  or 
twice  he  was  reported  dying,  and  once  the  news  came  that  he  was 
dead. 

Then  the  cowardly  bully  showed  of  what  stuff  he  was  made.  He 
mounted  a  horse  which  he  had  kept  ready,  and  fled,  no  one  knew 
whither. 

It  turned  out  to  be  a  false  alarm,  but  Joe  did  not  return  until  he 
learned  through  a  secret  agent  that  the  man  was  getting  better,  and 
likely  to  recover.  Then  he  came  back  with  as  much  bravado  as 
he  could  assume.  He  said  he  had  been  to  the  city  to  secure  coun 
sel,  and  that  he  would  show  Jim  Wilcox  that  he  could  not  knock 
him  down  without  any  cause. 

He  said  it  was  a  pity  the had  not  died;  coming 

over  there  to  interfere  in  their  shooting  matches.  Such  is  the  real 
coward  when  he  knows  there  is  no  danger. 


36  ENDURA:  OR, 


CHAPTER  V. 

THE    WEDDING. 

Across  the  threshold  led, 
And  every  tear  kiss'd  off  as  soon  as  shed, 
His  house  she  enters,  there  to  be  a  light 
Shining  within,  when  all  without  is  night, 
A  guardian  angel  o'er  his  life  presiding, 
Doubling  his  pleasures,  and  his  cares  dividing. 

— Roycs  Human  Wife. 

NOT  very  long  after  Walter  returned  with  his  bride-elect  from 
New  York,  preparations  were  made  for  their  wedding.  There 
was  a  great  deal  to  be  done,  and  help  was  difficult  to  be  obtained. 
But  at  last  Mrs.  Ivers  succeeded  in  securing  the  services  of  a  poor 
girl  in  the  neighborhood,  whose  mother  had  died  when  she  was  very 
young,  and  whose  father,  a  miserable,  drunken  sot,  had  been  convicted 
of  highway  robbery,  and  been  sentenced  to  five  years  in  the  peniten 
tiary,  where  he  was  then  serving  out  his  time.  His  name  was  Hiram 
Vic,  and  his  daughter's  name  was  Sallie.  Her  mother  had  died,  as 
some  said,  of  a  broken  heart,  on  account  of  the  miserable  wretch 
who  was  considered  a  nice  young  man  when  she  married  him, 
She  had  hidden  his  faults,  until  they  became  too  glaring, 
and  even  then  she  was  faithful  to  him,  and  so  remained  until 
death.  Sallie  Vic  was  a  pretty,  modest  girl,  and  when  Mrs.  Ivers 
sent  for  her  to  come  and  live  with  her,  and  help  her,  she  hesitated, 
fearing  that,  being  the  daughter  of  a  convict,  she  would  not  be  treated 
as  well  as  she  otherwise  would  have  been,  especially  by  Miss  Dubrow, 
who  had  the  name  of  being  very  "high-headed, "  as  Mrs.  Cramp  would 
say. 

She  finally  consented  to  come  and  stay  with  Mrs.  Ivers  until  after 
the  wedding. 

At  first  Sallie  was  timid,  and  scarcely  spoke  to  Miss  Dubrow,  but 
Annette  was  so  kind  and  gentle  to  her  that  gradually  she  gained  con 
fidence,  and  in  a  very  few  days  she  could  scarcely  bear  to  be  out  of 


THREE    GENERATIONS.  37 

her  sight,  and  there  was  nothing  which  she  would  not  undertake  for 
Nettie,  as  she  called  her. 

Sallie  had  been  taught  to  do  plain  sewing,  and,  being  very  neat  and 
tractable,  it  was  not  long  before  she  became  an  expert  seamstress, 
and  was  of  the  greatest  assistance  during  the  few  weeks  preceeding 
Walter's  marriage.  As  the  time  drew  nigh  the  invitations  were 
given  out.  It  was  scarcely  expected  that  everybody  could  be  invited, 
but  Walter  was  determined  not  to  overlook  any  of  his  friends,  if  he 
could  help  it.  But  the  house  was  not  large  enough  to  accomodate 
everybody.  True,  the  Squire  had  made  extensive  additions  to  his 
cottage  since  it  was  built,  and  now,  as  he  said,  it  was  not  very 
sightly,  but  very  comfortable. 

The  time  for  the  wedding  was  set  for  Thanksgiving  Day,  and 
preparations  were  made  for  the  greatest  feast  that  had  ever  been 
given  in  those  parts. 

One  of  the  rooms  which  had  been  added  to  the  pioneer's  cottage 
was  very  large.  It  was  intended  by  the  Squire  for  a  kind  of  court 
room,  wherein  he  held  court,  while  he  was  Justice  of  the  Peace,  and 
for  a  dining-room,  whenever  there  was  an  unusual  number  invited  or 
expected  to  dine  with  them.  There  was  another  use  which  the  great 
room  as  it  was  called,  was  put  to.  There  being  a  large  fire-place, 
with  a  great  oven  in  back,  and  ample  room  to  get  around  great  ket 
tles,  it  was  used  as  a  general  slaughter-house,  or,  at  least  for  the 
scalding  and  dressing  of  pigs,  poultry,  etc.,  during  the  fall  and  winter 
months;  also  for  making  and  repairing  of  agricultural  tools,  such 
as  would  be  required  the  following  season.  Here  corn  was  shelled 
during  the  long,  stormy  nights  of  winter.  It  was  also  the  grand 
apple-cut  room,  where  old  and  young  met;  the  aged  to  live  over 
their  youth  again,  and  the  young  looking  afar  off  to  the  good  time 
coming,  little  knowing  that  they  were,  just  then,  amid  the  very 
ecstasies  of  life. 

"  And  still  as  each  repeated  pleasure  tir'd, 
Succeeding  sports  the  mirthful  band  inspired." 

Upon  the  present  occasion  the  great  room  was  to  be  decorated  as 
never  before.  It  was  papered  anew  and  painted  anew;  while 
around  upon  the  walls  hung  trophies  and  pictures  wreathed  in 
"Creeping  Jenny"  and  "Princess  Feather."  Laurel  branches 


38  ENDURA  I   OR, 

entwined  with  autumn  leaves,  were  made  to  represent  arches,  and 
chains  of  red  cranberries  hung  in  festoons,  completely  around  the 
room.  Two  pine  trees  stood  beside  the  great  fire-place,  heavily 
laden  with  red  and  yellow  apples;  while  over  the  mantel,  pro 
jecting  about  three  feet  into  the  room,  was  an  evergreen  bower,  bear 
ing  golden  fruits ;  beneath  that,  suspended  by  invisible  cords,  were  the 
letters  W  and  A,  made  also  of  cranberries,  upon  a  back-ground  of 
wintergreen  leaves,  plaited  together. 

Two  tables,  running  the  entire  length  of  the  room,  were  trimmed 
with  evergreen.  In  the  center  of  each  was  a  beautiful  fir  tree,  laden 
with  choice  fruits,  upon  which  were  fastened  mottoes  appropriate  to 
the  occasion. 

The  long-looked-for,  and  most  welcome  day  at  last  had  come,  and 
the  guests  began  to  assemble. 

Elder  Knocks  was  selected  by  Walter  to  marry  him,  and  Mrs. 
Knocks  was  deferred  to  so  much  that  she  almost  felt  herself  a  queen, 
and  her  husband  one  of  the  nobles  of  the  land. 

Sallie  Vic  was  everywhere;  now  superintending  the  dining-room, 
now  assisting  to  dress  the  bride.  She  made  the  wreaths  and  strung 
the  cranberries  for  the  festoons,  and  assisted  Mrs.  Ivers  to  make  the 
wedding-cake. 

Mrs.  Ivers  told  her  she  must  not  go  on  so,  or  she  would  surely  be 
sick,  and  Annette  begged  that  she  would  not  work  so  hard,  just  for 
her  sake.  Sallie  said  it  was  for  her  sake  that  she  did  work  so.  An 
nette  kissed  her  cheek  and  said  she  should  be  her  dear  sister.  That 
brought  tears  to  the  poor  girls  eyes,  while  she  could  only  say:  "No, 
no,  Nettie,  you  do  not  mean  it."  It  was  strange  that  those  two> 
brought  together  under  such  circumstances,  should  have  formed  an 
undying  affection  for  each  other,  and,  as  widely  different  as  their 
positions  were,  they  were  indeed  like  loving  sisters. 

As  the  neighbors  and  guests  arrived  it  seemed  as  if  the  house 
would  not  hold  them,  and  when,  finally,  the  candidates  came  for 
ward,  there  was  scarcely  standing-room  inside  the  house.  It  was  not 
thought  advisable  to  have  a  bridesmaid,  or  groomsman,  so  they  took 
their  places  beneath  the  evergreen  canopy,  and,  joining  hands,  the 
good  man  read  the  ceremony,  and  pronounced  them  man  and  wife 
After  making  a  very  fervent  prayer,  he  congratulated  them  both,  say 


THREE   GENERATIONS.  39 

ing  he  believed  they  were  worthy  of  each  other.  After  the  forma 
congratulations  of  their  friends  present,  the  room  was  cleared  and  the 
feast  prepared,  which  was  by  far  the  most  important  part  of  the 
ceremony  to  a  majority  of  those  present. 

The  Squire  sat  at  the  head  of  one  table  with  his  old  wife,  both 
looking  as  happy  as  it  is  possible  for  those  to  look  who  have  reached 
a  ripe  old  age,  and  who  had  been  prospered,  as  they  almost  felt,  be 
yond  their  deserts.  At  the  other  table  sat  Walter  and  his  bride.  He 
was,  indeed,  nature's  nobleman,  one  who  might  have  been  selected 
from  among  a  thousand  modest  and  dignified,  but  genial  and  con 
siderate;  a  manly  form,  large  dark  eyes  and  perfect  features;  his 
beautiful  hair,  worn  according  to  the  fashion  of  the  times,  was  his 
crowning  beauty.  Graceful  and  easy  in  his  manners,  he  was  admired 
and  complimented  by  all  present — no,  not  all,  for  there  were  those 
who  envied  and  hated  him  while  they  pretended  to  do  him  honor. 
The  bride  seemed  the  very  acme  of  loveliness  and  innocence.  Her 
sweet  smile  seemed  to  lend  enchantment  to  the  scene,  and  her  golden 
hair  was  the  rich  setting  of  a  face  all  beauty,  not  a  line  could  have 
been  changed  for  the  better.  Her  eyes  seemed  to  look  out  from  the 
soul  which  was  all  love  and  hope;  her  dress  was  simple,  so  that  her 
own  personal  charms  were  enhanced.  Indeed,  nothing  could  have 
detracted  from  them,  for,  like  a  precious  stone,  her  beauty  out 
dazzled  all  setting. 

Many  were  the  compliments  the  young  couple  received  by  both 
old  and  young,  and  much  as  some  present  would  have  liked  to  have 
made  unfavorable  comments,  they  did  not  venture  to  do  it  there;  but 
their  envy  was  bottled  up  for  future  use. 


4°  ENDURA  :    OR, 


CHAPTER  VI. 

OLD    TIMES. 

Beside  yon  straggling  fence  that  skirts  the  way 
With  blossom'd  furze,  unprofitably  gay, 
There,  in  his  noisy  mansion  skilled  to  rule, 
The  village  master  taught  his  little  school. 

— Goldsmith's  Deserted  Village. 

THE  manners  and  customs  of  some  portions  of  New  England  do 
not  differ  greatly  from  what  they  were  one  hundred  years  ago. 

They  have  their  own  way  of  doing  things,  and  that  is  the  way  their 
grandfather's  did  it  before  them.  A  school-meeting  in  a  country  dis 
trict,  is  just  the  same  as  it  was  half  a  century  ago.  In  the  matter  of 
schoolhouses  there  has  been  a  rise  and  decline,  all  within  fifty  years. 
It  is  within  the  memory  of  man,  not  yet  old,  when  a  portion  of  some 
private  house  was  rented  for  the  use  of  the  district  school.  A  load 
or  two  of  green  wood  was  brought  to  the  door,  and  the  school-master 
was  expected  to  cut  it  up  ready  for  use;  said  master  usually  provided 
himself  with  a  good,  strong  ferule,  or  ruler,  as  it  was  called,  and  a  nice 
slender  hickory  or  birch  switch,  which  was  used  to  persuade  refrac 
tory  boys  and  girls  to  mend  their  ways.  The  furniture  of  a  school 
room  then  was  somewhat  unique. 

The  seats,  or  benches,  as  they  were  called,  were  usually  made  from 
the  first  slice  of  a  chestnut  log,  called  a  slab.  Usually  it  had  four 
large  auger-holes  bored  into  the  convex  side  of  it,  into  which  were 
driven  great  sticks,  for  legs.  That  left  the  flat  side  up,  upon  which 
the  unfortunate  children  were  allowed  to  sit  for  six  hours  each  day, 
without  being  able  to  touch  a  foot  to  the  floor,  and  without  a  single 
thing  to  rest  their  backs  against.  The  seats  for  the  larger  scholars 
were  still  higher,  and  the  pupil  usually  sat  facing  the  wall,  with  a 
board  in  front,  which  was  called  a  desk,  upon  which  was  laid  their 
writing  books,  slates,  'etc.  When  they  read  or  spelled,  which  was 
usually  about  five  times  each  day,  they  were  obliged  to  right  about 
as  best  they  could,  in  order  to  face  the  teacher,  who  usually  stood 


THREE    GENERATIONS.  4! 

somewhere  near  the  centre  of  the  room.  It  would  be  considered 
somewhat  difficult  for  a  young  lady  of  the  present  day  to  get  in  and 
out  from  behind  those  long,  tall  benches;  but  practice  makes  perfect, 
and  they  very  soon  became  expert  in  changing  their  positions. 

The  teacher  was  expected  to  write  their  copies,  in  their  writing- 
books;  mend  their  goose-quill  pens;  keep  up  the  fire;  hear  the  child 
ren  say  their  letters,  four  times  each  day,  and  follow  the  reading 
class  in  their  New  Testament  readings,  at  least  twice  each  day. 

That  Bible  or  Testament  reading  was  quite  an  event,  fifty  years 
years  ago,  in  New  England.  Each  scholar  would  be  required  to 
read  a  verse,  beginning  at  one  end  of  the  writing  benches  and  going 
to  the  other.  It  was  often  the  case  that  a  scholar  could  not  read 
an  average  of  two  words  without  stopping  to  spell  it  out;  and 
when  it  happened  that  such  an  one  was  required  to  read  a  long 
verse,  one  could  almost  take  a  nap.  The  stupid  fellow  would  repeat 
word  after  word  after  the  teacher,  and  let  his  eyes  wander  from  his 
book  as  soon  as  he  repeated  each,  until  the  next  one  was  called,  and 
so  on  to  the  end. 

Jim  Dowdle  was  one  of  this  kind.  He  never  could  learn,  and  the 
terrible  ordeal  through  which  he  passed  was  excruciating.  Great 
drops  of  prespiration  gathered  on  his  brow  as  the  color  came  and 
went  around  his  mouth  until  the  last  word  was  repeated. 

Upon  one  occasion  the  whole  school  were  in  a  titter 
before  he  waded  through,  which  so  incensed  him,  that  he  drop 
ped  his  book  by  his  side,  and  rolling  up  his  eyes,  he  said,  "Now 
laugh,  all  on  ye,  laugh!"  which  was  the  signal  for  a  general  roar. 

There  are  many  pleasant  reminiscenses  of  those  days,  as  for  in 
stance,  when  some  pretty  girl  sat  next  to  you,  who  happened  to  be 
the  favorite  of  the  school;  for  whom  partiality  was  shown,  even  by 
the  teacher,  who  was  supposed  to  be  incapable  of  any  preference. 
Who  shall  say  what  effect  such  close  proximity  to  gentleness  and 
beauty  may  not  have  had  upon  the  rough,  uncouth  young  men  of 
half  a  century  ago?  It  may  have  influenced  the  lives  of  thousands 
of  those  who  have  since  made  their  mark  in  the  world;  and  the  pres 
ent  generation  must  still  feel  their  influence  for  good,  and  the  same 
moral  effect  may  descend  to  the  generations  that  shall  come  after  us. 


42  ENDURA  :    OR, 

Who  shall  say  how  long  their  influence  will  be  felt,  away  down  the 
dim  vista  of  coming  years? 

About  the  time  of  which  we  write,  a  new  order  of  things  was  es 
tablished.  They  began  to  build  schoolhouses.  It  might  very  prop 
erly  have  been  called  the  age  of  schoolhouses.  True,  they  were  un 
ostentatious;  indeed,  they  were  simplicity  itself  But  still,  they  were 
an  improvement  upon  the  old  system  of  putting  rough  wooden 
benches  against  some  old  tumble-down  kitchen,  and  calling  it  a 
schoolroom.  The  location  usually  selected  was  at  some  cross-roads, 
or  at  a  corner  that  would  be  central  for  the  district.  There  was 
usually  an  entry  or  hall,  running  across  the  entire  end  of  the 
building,  often  as  large  as  five  by  twenty  feet,  out  of  which  opened 
two  doors  into  the  school-room  proper.  Some  of  the  more  preten 
tious  had  two  outside  doors  opening  into  the  hall,  and  two  other 
doors  into  the  school-room. 

They  were  usually  without  paint,  or  ornament,  but  now  and  then 
one  was  treated  to  a  coat  of  red  paint,  which  seemed  to  be  the  pre 
vailing  color  at  that  time.  The  side  seats  were  usually  elevated  about 
one  foot  from  the  floor;  upon  the  platform,  in  front  of  the  seat,  look 
ing  toward  the  middle  of  the  room,  were  the  writing  desks,  which 
formed  a  back  for  the  children's  seats.  These,  with  a  few  benches 
standing  in  a  hollow  square  around  the  stove,  were  all  the  seats  the 
house  could  afford.  The  "entry,"  as  it  was  called,  was  usually  the 
receptacle  of  wood,  where  also  were  placed  the  indispensable  water- 
pail  and  dipper.  Along,  upon  either  side,  were  nails  driven,  upon 
which  the  scholars  hung  their  hats  and  wraps.  In  the  center  of  the 
room  was  placed  a  large  stove,  with  a  great  capacity  for  wood;  the 
pipe  usually  ran  straight  up  through  the  ceiling,  where  it  entered  a 
brick  chimney,  which  was  supported  by  a  single  perpendicular  tim 
ber,  just  back  of  the  pipe.  In  cold  weather  the  teacher  would  cram 
this  great  iron  box  with  wood,  until  the  room  became  intolerable; 
and  then  the  windows  and  doors  would  be  thrown  open;  the  result 
was  severe  colds  and  a  general  barking  among  the  children,  to  the 
annoyance  of  each  other. 

The  teacher  was  required  to  labor  six  days  in  the  week,  and  the 
pay  was  from  eight  to  twelve  dollars  a  month;  at  the  latter  price,  he 
was  often  required  to  board  himself.  But  boarding  around  was  cus- 


THREE    GENERATIONS.  43 

ternary,  prorating  according  to  the  number  of  children  sent  to  school. 
This  custom  usually  created  more  or  less  jealousy,  especially  if  the 
teacher  was  a  single  gentleman  and  good-looking,  as  many  of  his 
pupils  were  young  women,  who  were  not  above  smiling  on  the 
teacher. 

It  was  not  always  that  the  teacher  stayed  longest  where  there 
were  the  most  children;  indeed,  some  poor  or  disagreeable  families 
were  excused  altogether. 

Spelling  schools  were  quite  a  feature  in  a  district  school,  during 
the  winter  term,  when  the  scholars  from  the  surrounding  districts 
would  be  invited.  It  was  not  an  uncommon  occurrence  for  them  to 
go  five  or  six  miles  to  attend  one  of  those  entertainments.  They 
usually  took  place  in  the  evening,  and  lasted  until  the  candles  were 
burned  out,  when  it  was  time  for  the  young  men  to  be  looking  out 
for  some  girl  to  accompany  home.  Their  offers  were  not  always 
accepted;  sometimes  the  young  lady  had  made  a  previous  engage 
ment;  and  then,  again,  the  young  man  may  not  have  been  to  the 
liking  of  the  girl. 

The  spelling  classes  were  arrayed  against  each  other;  a  boy  and  a 
girl  having  been  selected  to  choose  sides.  After  all  present  had  been 
invited  by  one  side  or  the  other,  which  was  done  alternately;  the 
contest  began  in  good  earnest.  When  one  side  missed  a  word  the 
boy  or  girl  missing  it  must  leave  the  ranks,  and  the  opposite  side  had 
a  right  to  draw  one  from  the  side  upon  which  the  word  had  been 
missed;  then  if  the  other  side  failed  to  spell  it,  the  one  missing  must 
leave,  and  the  same  one  that  had  been  drawn  to  that  side  would  be 
called  back;  so  that,  frequently,  a  really  good  speller  would  be  kept 
going  from  one  side  to  the  other,  until  the  hard  word  was  spelled 
correctly.  Sometimes  such  a  word  would  floor  half  of  those  in  the 
class,  but  that  was  no  great  loss,  for  the  good  spellers  were  left,  who 
seemed  to  defy  hard  words,  and  spell  on  until  it  became  monotonous, 
when  they  were  ordered  to  stand  up.  The  teacher  would  then  select  the 
most  peculiar  and  difficult  words  to  be  found,  and  the  one  who  stood 
up  the  longest  was  considered  the  champion  speller.  If  one  word 
floored  them  all,  it  was  a  kind  of  draw  game,  and  each  felt  himself 
equal  to  the  others,  at  least,  and  usually  found  some  excuse  for  not 
spelling  it. 


44  ENDURA  :    OR, 


CHAPTER  VII. 

THE    MEETING    HOUSE. 

Bubble  on,  ye  priests,  amuse  mankind 
With  idle  tales  of  flames  and  torturing  fiends 
And  starry  crowns,  for  patient  suffering  here; 
Yes,  gull  the  crowd,  and  gain  their  earthly  goods, 
For  feigned  reversions  in  a  heavenly  state. 

—  W.  Shirley's  Parricide. 

ONE  would  suppose  that  the  churches  would  have  kept  pace  with 
the  times,  but  on  the  contrary  they  seem  to  be  the  very  last  of 
all  the  institutions  of  the  country  to  take  a  step  forward. 

True  the  old  sounding-boards  and  high-backed  pews  have  gradu 
ally  been  done  away  with.  But  many  of  the  old-time  customs  re 
main  the  same  as  they  were  a  century  ago.  For  fifty  years  there  has 
not  been  any  perceptable  improvement  in  the  churches,  inside  or 
out.  The  congregations  act  the  same  as  they  did  generations  ago, 
and  they  absolutely  refuse  to  listen  to  any  new  doctrine.  For  that 
matter,  any  man  that  can  read  the  Bible  without  understanding  it  is 
considered  fit  to  preach  the  gospel.  He  is  supposed  to  be  able  to 
expound  the  Scriptures,  whether  he  reads  them  intelligently  or  not. 
They  argue  that  it  is  a  sin  for  a  man  to  write  a  sermon,  and  they  will 
not  sit  under  such  preaching  if  they  can  help  themselves.  They 
say:  "  Open  your  mouth  and  God  will  fill  it  if  he  wishes  you  to 
speak." 

Within  little  more  than  a  year,  the  writer  listened  to  a  preacher  of 
about  the  ordinary  intelligence,  who  said  he  did  not  like  such  re 
ligion  as  required  a  man  to  read  a  sermon  or  prayer.  For  his  part, 
he  did  not  believe  in  such,  and  he  thought  God  almighty,  turned  a 
deaf  ear  to  sermons  of  that  kind. 

Another  man,  who  happened  to  be  present,  who  was  a  Sweden- 
borgian,  arose,  and  said  he  differed  somewhat  from  the  brother  who 
had  just  spoken,  and  that  he  reads  Mr.  Giles'  sermon  simply  because 


THREE    GENERATIONS.  45 

he  thought  Mr.  Giles  could  preach  better  than  he  could  himself.  We 
concurred. 

Whole  communities,  notwithstanding  their  educational  advantages, 
have  not  advanced  a  peg,  and  in  some  sections  they  seem  to  be 
drifting  back  to  barbarism.  They  have  become  indolent  and  de 
bauched,  and  year  after  year  they  seem  to  degenerate,  growing  more 
and  more  bigoted  as  they  grow  less  and  less  refined. 

As  we  are  treating  of  the  second  generation,  it  may  be  anticipating 
in  making  the  above  remarks.  But  we  feel  it  incumbent  upon  us  to 
show  some  of  the  customs  of  the  second  generation,  which  may  ap 
ply  equally  well  to  the  third,  where  the  men  and  women  are  sep- 
rated  in  the  churches,  the  men  going  in  at  one  door,  and  the  wo 
men  at  the  other. 

Such  are  the  fashions  in  many  churches  in  good  old  New  England 
to-day. 

We  left  Walter  and  his  bride  wandering  away  to  other  themes  and 
to  other  days.  We  now  return  to  them  to  accompany  them  along 
the  road  of  life,  through  sunshine,  and  through  shadow,  by  the 
side  of  pleasant  waters  and  upon  life's  stormy  ocean.  We  may, 
perchance,  lose  sight  of  them  from  time  to  time,  while  we  look  after 
others  whom  we  may  wish  to  know,  but  we  cannot  forget  the  part 
they  are  to  play.  They  are  not  the  real  characters,  but  they  repre 
sent  the  second  generation,  and  as  such  they  deserve  a  prominent 
place  in  the  story. 

A  few  weeks  after  the  wedding  it  became  necessary  for  Walter  to 
go  to  New  York  to  attend  the  trial  of  the  villains  who  had  robbed 
him.  Annette  could  not  bear  to  have  him  absent  so  long.  It  might 
be  for  two  weeks  or  more.  But  Walter,  much  as  it  pained  him  to 
leave  his  bride,  thought  it  better  that  she  should  remain  with  the  old 
people.  So,  he  packed  his  satchel,  and  took  his  leave  of  the  family, 
his  wife  driving  him  to  the  station  where  he  was  to  take  the  stage,  and 
there  they  parted,  he  to  go  on  his  lonely  way,  and  she  to  return  to 
her  lonely  home,  the  home  where  she  was  beloved,  as  have  been 
few  daughters-in-law.  But  still  there  was  a  great  void.  The  rooms 
were  hollow ;  the  great  dining-hall  in  which  they  were  mar 
ried  seemed  as  though  it  were  waiting  for  a  funeral.  Green 
boughs  had  withered  and  been  removed,  but  the  festoons  of 


46  ENDURA  !    OR, 

cranberries  still  decorated  the  walls;  the  evergreen  canopy,  under 
which  she  and  Walter  were  made  one,  had  been  taken  away,  and  the 
silence  of  the  grave  seemed  to  be  everywhere. 

Annette  sat  down  and  wept,  as  she  thought  of  the  sweet  and  bitter 
past;  great  tears  rolled  down  her  cheeks,  and  audible  sobs  escaped 
her.  She  seemed  lost  to  all  around,  as  though  she  were  in  a  trance. 
Feeling  a  hand  laid  gently  upon  her  head,  she  looked  up,  and  there 
hovering  over  her  like  a  guardian-angel,  was  Sallie  Vic.  She, 
too,  was  weeping,  and  seemed  in  almost  as  great  distress  as  Annette, 
who  immediately  arose  and  embraced  the  dear  girl  who  could  make 
her  sorrow  her  own.  No  words  could  speak  the  feelings  conveyed 
by  that  embrace.  No  sisters  could  have  loved  each  other  better. 

Annette  suggested  that  they  take  a  walk  in  the  fields,  to  which  her 
young  friend  assented  ;  anything  to  make  Annette  forget  for  a 
moment  her  sorrow  and  loneliness.  It  was  pleasant,  but  the  autumn 
air  was  keen,  and  they  walked  on  briskly  through  the  field  where 
Walter's  favorite  mare  was  feeding.  Annette  spoke  to  her  and  she 
came  toward  them,  almost  near  enough  for  Annette  to  stroke  her 
nose.  Turning  suddenly,  she  raised  her  head,  and,  snorting  fiercely, 
bounded  away.  Annette  was  frightened,  and  look  around  for  some 
cause;  but  nothing  appearing,  they  walked  on  toward  where  the  ani 
mal  had  halted,  when  the  same  performance  was  repeated.  Annette 
was  a  little  puzzled  to  know  why  the  animal,  always  so  fearless  and 
gentle  before,  should  suddenly  have  become  so  wild  and  frightened, 
seemingly. 

For  two  or  three  days  Annette  and  Sallie  were  almost  constantly 
together;  indeed,  Annette  could  not  sleep  without  her. 

The  fourth  night  after  Walter  left,  they  were  sleeping  together,  as 
usual,  when  Annette  awoke  with  a  scream,  which  awakened  the  old 
people,  as  well  as  Sallie,  who  seemed  to  feel  every  movement  made  by 
Annette.  The  old  gentleman  came  to  the  door  and  asked  what  the 
matter  was.  Annette  told  him  she  had  had  a  horrible  dream;  she 
supposed  it  must  have  been  a  kind  of  night-mare;  but  she  declared 
she  could  not  sleep  any  more  that  night. 

She  said  she  had  seen  Walter  at  the  hotel,  in  the  very  room  which 
she  had  occupied  while  in  New  York,  after  the  terrible  ship-wreck. 
He  appeared  to  be  asleep.  Just  then  the  door  appeared  to  be  gently 


THREE    GENERATIONS.  47 

pushed  open,  when,  of  a  sudden,  there  was  a  tremondous  crash, 
upon  which  she  screamed,  and  awoke.  She  got  up  and  dressed,  and 
nothing  could  induce  her  to  try  to  sleep  again.  She  declared  that 
some  one  had  attempted  the  life  of  Walter,  if  he  had  not  already 
been  murdered.  Her  excitement  was  intense;  nothing  could  soothe 
her.  She  tried  to  be  brave,  but  hysterics  came  on,  and  she  was  un 
controllable.  The  next  day  she  had  a  fever,  and  they  tried  to  quiet 
her  by  saying  that  she  might  expect  a  letter  from  Walter.  She  said, 
"No;  Walter  could  not  write."  Her  mania  began  to  be  serious.  She 
would  talk  of  the  ship-wreck,  and  of  her  mother  and  her  father; 
and  she  shrank  as  she  seemed  to  feel  the  ship  tremble,  and  then  she 
would  cling  to  Sallie,  and  beg  of  her  to  save  her;  now  and  then  raving 
for  Walter,  who,  she  said,  they  had  murdered. 

The  family  physician  was  called,  who  was  frightened  himself;  but 
he  prescribed  perfect  quiet,  at  the  same  time  administering  an  opi 
ate,  which  gave  temporary  relief. 

A  week  passed,  and  no  news  from  Walter.  Squire  Ivers  began 
to  feel  uneasy.  Day  after  day  went  by,  and  still  no  letter.  Every 
paper  that  came  to  the  post-office  from  New  York  was  closely 
scanned.  At  last  the  following  paragraph  arrested  the  attention  of 
those  interested: 

REMARKABLE     CAPTURE. 

Some  time  since  a  young  man  from  the  country  was  stopping  at 
the  Knickerbocker  Hotel.  Meeting  a  stranger,  who  appeared  to  be 
acquainted  with  his  part  of  the  country,  he  was  induced  to  take  a 
walk  with  him.  Under  some  pretense  or  other,  they  entered  one  of 
the  deadfalls  which  abound  in  the  lower  part  of  the  city,  where  the 
countryman  was  drugged  and  robbed,  and  the  next  morning  he  found 
himself  in  the  station-house,  from  which  unpleaasnt  situation  he  was 
soon  released  by  the  interposition  of  a  friend.  There  appeared  to 
be  four  of  the  robbers,  who  were,  as  it  was  supposed,  accomplices. 

The  next  day  the  young  man,  whose  name  is  Ivers,  left  on  the 

morning  stage  for  W .  He  had  scarcely  taken  his  seat  on  the 

top  of  the  coach  before  he  saw  a  man  get  inside  who  he  had  good 
reason  to  remember.  It  proved  to  be  "Puny,"  alias  Chas.  Jackson, 
the  proprietor  of  the  den  in  which  he  was  drugged  and  robbed. 
Young  Ivers  mistrusted  his  purpose,  and  determined  to  not  lose 
sight  of  him,  at  the  same  time  keeping  shady  himself.  As  Ivers  sus 
pected,  they  both  got  off  at  the  same  station;  when  Ivers,  who  is  a 


48  ENDURA:  OR, 

powerful  man,  immediately  collared  him,  accusing  him  of  the  rob 
bery.  At  first  he  denied  any  knowledge  of  what  the  man  was  talking 
about,  but,  subsequently,  a  portion  of  the  young  man's  money  was 
found  upon  his  person,  with  other  proofs  which  were  conclusive;  so 
he  was  held  to  answer  with  two  of  the  others,  who  were  discovered 
through  a  letter  which  he  attempted  to  forward  clandestinely,  but 
which  was  intercepted,  fortunately,  for  the  good  of  the  community. 
Thus  were  three  as  great  rogues  captured  as  there  are  in  the  city; 
also  a  woman  who  attempted  the  confidence  game  upon  the  same 
young  man,  all  of  whom,  including  the  woman,  are  now  in  jail  await 
ing  their  trials.  Now  comes  the  strangest  part  of  the  whole  affair. 
Mr.  Ivers  arrived  in  the  city  the  day  before  yesterday,  and  stopped 
again  at  the  Knickerbocker  Hotel.  He  came  as  a  witness  for  the 
commonwealth  against  the  villains  who  have  so  long  disgraced  our 
city.  After  being  tempted  by  an  offer  of  a  large  sum  of  money,  as 
well  as  otherwise,  he  acted  the  part  of  an  honest,  conscientious  gentle 
man,  and  came  on,  greatly  inconveniencing  himself,  in  order  that  jus 
tice  should  be  done  to  some  of  the  worst  characters  that  infest  New 
York. 

Going  to  his  room  the  night  after  his  arrival,  he  noticed  that  the 
bolt  did  not  seem  to  enter  the  cavity  intended  for  it,  so  he  left  the 
key  half  turned;  but  in  order  to  make  it  secure,  he  put  the  washstand 
against  the  door,  and  on  top  of  that  his  valise,  while  still  on  top  of 
all  he  put  the  ewer  and  basin  which  were  in  the  room.  About  mid 
night  the  house  was  aroused  by  a  tremenduous  crash,  which  brought 
Mr.  Ivers  out  of  bed  and  to  the  door  in  an  instant.  The  night  clerk 
rushed  to  the  foot  of  the  stairs,  where  he  met  a  man  in  great  haste 
trying  to  make  his  escape.  The  clerk,  with  the  assistance  of  two  or 
three  who  happened  to  be  present,  secured  him,  notwithstanding  his 
protestations  of  innocence.  Mr.  Ivers  soon  came  down,  and,  wonder 
ful  to  be  told,  recognized  the  very  man  who  first  gained  his  confi 
dence  and  induced  him  to  go  to  the  den  where  he  was  robbed. 

There  could  be  no  mistaking  the  man.  He  gives  his  name  as 
Harry  Richards,  but  he  is  believed  to  be  none  other  than  "Foxy,"  the 
escaped  convict,  for  whom  there  is  a  large  reward  offered.  An  officer 
was  called  in,  and  he  was  searched;  upon  his  person  was  found  a 
bottle  of  chloroform,  a  large  dirk-knife,  and  a  pair  of  brass  knuckles. 
If  it  be  the  man,  which  it  now  appears  is  quite  certain,  he  was  con 
victed  some  two  years  ago  of  murder  in  the  second  degree,  and  sen 
tenced  to  the  penitentiary,  from  which  he  escaped  about  six  months  ago, 
by  the  aid  of  the  very  woman  who  attempted  to  practice  her  confi 
dence  game  upon  Mr.  Ivers,  when  he  was  in  the  city  before;  at  which 
time  he  so  providentially  escaped  from  her  wiles  and  webs,  and  so 
completely  turned  the  tables  upon  her.  Her  case  comes  up,  with  the 


THREE    GENERATIONS.  49 

three  first  captured  of  the  quartette  of  knaves,  the  present  term  of 
court. 

It  is  no  less  remarkable  that  the  last,  who  it  is  believed  is  by  far 
the  worst,  of  the  four  robbers,  should  have  been  caught  in  his  own 
trap,  as  it  now  appears  quite  certain  that  he  had  dabbled  with  the 
lock  on  the  door,  he  having  been  seen  about  the  house  a  number  of 
times  during  the  day.  A  small  block  of  wood  was  fitted  into  the 
mortise  of  the  lock,  thus  preventing  the  bolt  from  passing  the  center, 
which  virtually  left  the  door  unlocked. 

It  is  supposed  that  he  intended  to  chloroform,  rob  and  murder 
Mr.  Ivers,  as  there  did  not  appear  to  be  another  way  of  getting  rid 
of  so  important  a  witness;  and  but  for  the  precaution  taken  by  Mr. 
Ivers,  all  four  of  the  confederates  would  have  been  set  at  liberty, 
and  another  murder  been  unaccounted  for,  while  the  murderer  would 
have  been  at  large  in  our  midst.  By  this  time  the  city  "  black  legs" 
will  begin  to  feel  that  the  man  from  S is  a  bad  man  to  tackle. 

It  appears,  almost,  that  Mr.  Ivers  had  been  an  instrument  in  the 
hands  of  providence  for  annihilating  these  outlaws,  and  it  is  to  be 
hoped  that  nothing  will  delay  the  course  of  justice  until  the  whole 
five  are  behind  the  bars  at  Sing  Sing. 

By  the  next  days'  mail  there  came  a  letter  addressed  to  J.  Ivers, 
Esq.  Annette  had  been  in  a  fearfully  nervous  state  since  the  night 
of  her  terrible  dream,  which  came  so  near  being  a  fearful  reality. 
Indeed,  all  that  which  she  seemed  to  see  and  hear  was  real,  and 
must  be  accounted  for  upon  some  of  those  undefined  and  mysterious 
theories  which  have  existed  so  long,  but  of  which  comparatively  little 
is  known. 


50  ENDURA:  OR, 


CHAPTER   VIII. 

SALLIE   VIC. 

Abused  mortals !  did  you  know 

Where  joy,  heart's  ease  and  comfort's  grow 

You'd  scorn  proud  towers, 

And  seek  them  in  their  bowers, 

Where  winds  sometimes  our  woods  perhaps  may  shake, 

But  blustering  care  could  never  tempest  make, 

Nor  murmurs  e'er  come  nigh  us, 

Saving  of  fountains  that  glide  by  us. 

— Sir  W,  Raleigh. 

WHEN  the  letter  was  brought  to  Annette,  with  the  assurance  that 
Walter  was  well,  she  appeared  scarcely  to  realize  that  she  had  a 
letter  holding  it  abstractedly  in  her  hand,  for  two  or  three  minutes,  and 
then  she  opened  it  with  trembling  fingers.  She  pressed  it  to  her 
lips,  and  held  it  there  for  a  moment,  then,  taking  it  away,  kissed  it 
again  and  again  rapturously  before  she  attempted  to  read  it. 
Finally,  as  she  read  word  after  word,  the  tears  fell  faster  and  faster, 
until  she  was  almost  blinded  by  the  shower,  which  relieved  her 
seared  brain,  and  the  dear  girl  was  herself  once  more.  She  had 
been  tried  by  another  fearful  ordeal,  and  had  just  awakened  from  her 
dream. 

All  of  the  family  were  greatly  relieved  by  the  receipt  of  Walter's 
letter. 

Annette  did  not  let  his  letter  to  her  leave  her  possession.  Walter 
did  not  write  again  until  after  the  trial  of  one  of  the  accused  had 
terminated.  They  were  tried  separately,  and,  of  course,  it  took  a 
long  time,  notwithstanding  the  prosecution  had  only  one  witness  to 
rely  upon.  True,  some  of  the  city  police  were  called,  but  they  could 
say  little  more  than  that  they  knew  the  parties,  and  had  never  known 
of  their  doing  anything  to  get  an  honest  living,  or  that  they  were  sus 
picious  characters;  all  of  which  went  for  naught,  being  objected  to  by 
their  counsel,  as  a  matter  of  course,  so  that  Walter's  two-weeks,  ab 
sence  was  extended  to  three,  and  finally  to  four  weeks,  before  he 
could  return  home. 


THREE    GENERATIONS.  51 

The  trial  resulted  in  the  conviction  of  the  whole  of  the  gang,  the 
woman  included,  and  in  a  short  time  the  honest  people  of  New  York 
had  the  satisfaction  of  having  them  all  sent  to  the  State  Prison,  their 
terms  ranging  from  three  to  fifteen  years.  "Puny,"  who  proved 
to  be  an  escaped  convict  and  murderer,  was  returned  for  the 
latter  period.  And,  strange  enough,  Walter  was  awarded  the  reward 
which  had  been  offered  by  the  Governor,  which  he  generously  divided 
with  the  police  who  had  been  so  persevering  in  his  behalf.  Walter 
won  a  name  for  honor  and  uprightness  which  was  never  forgotten  in 
the  city  of  New  York.  He  was  remembered  as  the  Yankee  who  was 
connected  with  the  remarkable  trial,  or,  more  properly,  trials,  of  the 
five  robbers,  the  records  of  which  remain  to  this  day. 

Walter  did  not  think  it  advisable  to  write,  stating  at  what  time  he 
might  be  expected  home,  for  fear  of  detention  and  disappointment, 
so,  of  course,  he  expected  to  surprise  everybody.  But  he  was  mis 
taken,  for  not  a  stage  came  in  but  he  was  looked  for,  and  the  day  he 
arrived  his  wife  had  driven  over  to  the  post-office,  feeling  almost  sure 
that  he  would  come,  or,  at  least,  she  would  receive  a  letter.  When 
the  stage  drove  up  he  bounded  out,  almost  into  the  arms  of  his 
darling  Annette,  and  they  were,  once  more,  as  happy  as  it  is  possible 
for  human  beings  to  be. 

Another  welcome  awaited  him  at  home.  His  father  and  mother 
could  scarcely  believe  their  eyes,  and  poor,  timid  little  Sallie  dared 
not  show  half  her  feelings.  Annette  told  Walter  what  a  dear,  good 
girl  she  had  been  to  her,  and  that  he  must  love  her  very  much  for 
her  sake.  He  told  Sallie  what  his  wife  said,  and  made  her  a  present, 
which  he  had  purchased  expressly  for  her  before  he  left  the  city. 
Stooping  over,  he  kissed  her  forehead,  and  said  she  should  always  be 
Annette's  sister,  and  he  would  be  a  brother  to  her.  This  was,  indeed, 
too  much.  She  thanked  him,  and  hastened  out  of  the  room. 

When  Sallie  Vic  reached  her  room,  she  could  control  her  emotions 
no  longer.  She  threw  herself  upon  her  bed,  and  sobbed  like  a  child. 
Presently  a  knock  was  heard  at  the  door,  and  Annette's  gentle  voice. 
Sallie  tried  to  brush  away  the  tears  and  look  smiling,  but  it  was  too 
apparent  to  Annette  that  she  had  been  crying.  Putting  her  arms 
around  her,  she  told  her  how  much  she  loved  her,  and  that  it  made 
her  feel  bad  to  see  her  so  unhappy.  Sallie  said  she  did  not  cry 


52  ENDURA:   OR, 

because  she  was  unhappy,  but  because  she  felt  she  was  not  good 
enough  for  all  the  kindnesses  which  the  whole  family  bestowed  upon 
her. 

It  was  Annette's  turn  now  to  try  and  soothe  her  friend.  She  told 
her  that  she  was  not  beholden  to  any  one;  that  she  worked  for  all 
she  got,  and  was  deserving  of  much  more.  Still,  the  feeling  that  she 
was  a  servant,  and  the  daughter  of  a  convict,  seemed  to  break  her 
spirit,  and  all  the  assurances  Annette  could  give  appeared  to 
aggravate  the  case.  Unfortunately  for  Sallie  Vic,  she  was  educated 
above  her  sphere  in  life,  and,  being  naturally  sensitive,  her  position 
and  birth  wore  upon  her,  and,  it  seemed  to  her  friends,  to  be  making 
inroads  upon  her  health.  All  who  knew  her  were  considerate  of  her 
feelings,  never  alluding  to  her  parents  or  relations.  And  still,  she 
appeared  to  feel  that  they  were  thinking  how  to  avoid  doing  or  saying 
anything  to  pain  her,  all  the  time. 

It  is  more  unfortunate  for  a  person  to  be  born  and  educated  above 
the  sphere  which  they  are  compelled  to  occupy  in  life,  than  for  a 
person  of  mean  birth  to  be  forced  into  a  higher  position.  Neither 
can  adjust  herself  to  her  place.  The  difference  is,  the  one  who  is 
pulled  down  feels  too  much  her  debasement ;  while  the  one  who  is 
promoted  feels  too  much  her  elevation. 

Sallie  Vic  came  from  good  stock.  Her  mother  was  descended  from 
good  English  blood,  and  her  father  was  the  son  of  a  prominent 
business  man,  who  lived  to  see  his  son  disgrace  him  and  enter  the 
prison's  portals.  His  mother  died  some  years  before,  of  that  slow 
but  sure  disease,  consumption.  It  was  said  that  the  waywardness  of 
the  son  was,  in  a  great  measure,  attributable  to  the  indulgence  of  his 
mother.  But  she  did  not  live  to  see  him  disgraced,  and  feel  disgraced 
with  him.  Sallie  remembered  her  grandmother,  and  many  claimed 
to  see  a  striking  likeness  to  the  grandmother  in  the  granddaughter. 

It  was  often  predicted  that  she  would  go,  as  her  grandmother  had 
gone,  by  consumption;  every  cold  seemed  to  settle  on  her  lungs,  and 
the  last  was  more  severe  than  any  she  seemed  to  have  contracted  be 
fore. 

About  this  time  some  important  improvements  were  contemplated 
on  the  Ivers  farm.  The  old  house,  which  the  Squire  had  built  when 
he  first  cleared  up  the  land,  was  without  form  or  comeliness,  merely  a 


THREE    GENERATIONS.  53 

succession  of  additions  made  from  time  to  time,  as  necessity  de 
manded.  A  site  had  been  selected  years  before  by  Squire  Ivers  upon 
which  to  build  a  new  house,  if  ever  one  was  required.  From  year  to 
year  Walter  had  intimated  that  the  time  was  at  hand.  At  length 
the  old  gentleman  consented,  and  the  great  event  was  undertaken. 

A  cellar  was  dug  under  the  entire  house,  which  was  walled  up  with 
flat  stones  and  pointed  with  mortar,  and  then  great  flat  rocks  were 
placed  on  top,  upon  which  the  stout  oak  frame  was  to  rest.  The  men 
went  into  the  woods,  and  with  their  axes  felled  the  trees  for  the 
sleepers,  and  with  their  broad  axes  they  squared  them,  so  that  solid 
seven-inch  timbers  were  first  laid  upon  the  stonework;  and  then  the 
great  upright  corner  and  center  posts  were  framed  in,  draw-bored  and 
pinned,  braced  and  bolted;  in  between  were  the  stout  oak  joists,  bridged 
and  braced  like  the  frame  of  a  ship.  Then  came  the  plates  upon  which 
the  floor-timbers  were  to  rest,  and  then  more  uprights  and  more  brac 
ing,  until  the  top  plates,  upon  which  the  rafters  were  to  rest,  were  in 
place;  then  came  the  rafters,  also  bolted,  draw-bored  and  pinned. 
The  gables  were  then  timbered,  and  the  frame  was  up  ready  for 
covering.  Oak  and  chestnut  were  also  used  for  the  rough  boarding, 
and  usually  the  surface  was  covered  by  chestnut  shingles;  but  Squire 
Ivers,  or,  rather,  we  should  say  Walter  Ivers,  had  concluded  to  have 
clapboards,  as  they  were  supposed  to  make  a  better  finish,  though 
costing  somewhat  more.  It  was  a  whole  year  before  the  house  was 
completed,  during  which  time  Walter  became  a  happy  father;  a  son 
had  been  born  unto  him,  to  the  great  joy  of  the  household.  When, 
finally,  the  house  was  completed,  there  was  quite  a  large  family,  with 
servants  and  workmen,  to  take  possession  of  it.  A  description  of  the 
great  house  may  not  be  without  interest  to  the  reader.  We  are 
writing  of  the  second  generation,  and  it  will  be  proper  to  describe  the 
houses  in  which  the  people  lived. 

Every  age  has  had  its  peculiar  style  of  architecture.  One  hundred 
and  fifty  years  ago,  the  gambril-roof  predominated,  with  now  and 
then  an  attic  window  or  two  peeping  out  from  the  almost  perpen 
dicular  roof  which  formed  the  second  story,  like  great  eyes,  overlook 
ing  the  country  around. 

The  gambril-roof  era  lasted  about  half  a  century,  when  a  change 
took  place,  it  could  scarcely  be  called  an  improvement.  Instead  of 


54  ENDURA:  OR, 

the  single  story,  and  then  the  steep  lower  roof  which  formed  the 
second  story,  there  were  two  full  stories  in  front,  sloping  away  to  a 
very  low  story  in  the  rear,  making  one  continuous  roof  from  the  ridge 
pole  to  the  lower  eaves.  Along  the  front  were  two  rows  of  small 
windows  with  panes  of  glass  about  six  by  eight  inches.  In  the  rear 
of  the  house  was  the  kitchen,  which  usually  occupied  the  most  of  the 
side  of  the  house  upon  which  it  was  located.  This  style  did  not  last  as 
long  as  the  gambril-roof;  but  out  of  it  grew  the  regular  two-story 
house,  which  may  be  seen  to-day,  with  the  stereotyped  rows  of  small 
windows;  with  the  little  panes  of  glass,  scarcely  larger  than  a  man's 
hand;  with  one  great  chimney  in  the  center  of  the  ridge-pole.  Some 
times  two  chimneys  were  built,  but  usually  one  did  the  work,  with 
fire-places  upon  all  sides. 

History  repeats  itself  in  architecture  as  in  everything  else,  and  it  is 
conceded  that  the  present  style  — 1885 —  is  copied  after  that  of  two 
hundred  years  ago;  certain  it  is  that  many  country  houses  built 
within  the  last  five  years  look  wonderfully  like  those  built  one  hun 
dred  and  fifty  years  ago;  many  of  the  same  angles  in  sides  and  roofs, 
and,  in  some,  even  the  little  windows  are  introduced.  The  colors, 
too,  have  changed  within  a  very  short  period.  It  is  but  a  few  years  ago 
that  white  houses  with  green  blinds  were  the  fashion.  Now  an  artistic 
house  is  seldom  painted  white;  dark  and  parti-colors  preponderate 
where  there  are  any  pretensions  made  to  esthetics  or  style. 

At  the  time  Squire  Ivers  built  his  new  house,  the  two-story,  little- 
window  style  was  in  vogue.  The  house  was  finished  and  painted  red — 
a  favorite  color  at  that  period.  The  front  door,  exactly  in  the  mid 
dle  of  one  side,  was  finished  with  side-lights  and  transom,  all  of 
which,  with  the  window-casings,  were  painted  white. 

Upon  the  center  of  the  door  was  a  grotesque  head  intended  to 
represent  a  lion.  In  the  mouth  was  held  the  bronzed  bail  of  the  rude 
knocker,  which  was  used  instead  of  a  bell.  This  knocker  could  be 
heard  in  any  part  of  the  house,  and  was  really  quite  as  effectual 
as  the  gong  bell. 

One  peculiarity  of  those  country  houses  was  that  they  fronted 
nowhere,  or  in  other  words,  their  front  door  was  of  very  little  use, 
except  to  put  milk-pails  and  pans  upon  the  steps  to  dry. 

Oftentimes  they  were  far  away  from  the  highway,  in   the  fields, 


KESIDENCE  OF  GENERAL  IVEBS. 


THREE    GENERATIONS.  55 

with  a  number  of  gates  to  be  opened  before  they  could  be  reached; 
and  then  the  front  was  as  likely  to  be  walled  up  as  not,  or,  at  best,  it 
fronted  on  the  vegetable  garden,  which  was  fenced  up  on  three  sides 
to  keep  the  hens  out. 

Lilacs  and  currant  bushes  were  the  chief  ornamental  shrubs,  while 
in  summer  sun-flowers  and  saffron  adorned  the  borders.  Later  pole- 
beans  and  potatoes  were  most  admired  by  the  farmer,  while  his  wife 
cultivated  a  few  "sweet-williams"  and  "bouncing  bet." 

Usually  a  white  and  red  rose  was  allowed  to  struggle  for  life  in 
some  unapproachable  corner,  and  from  time  to  time,  some  persistent 
flower  would  spring  up  unnoticed,  and  live  to  bloom  and  beautify 
the  too-practical  garden. 

The  hop  vine  not  unfrequently  embowered  the  door,  and  spear 
mint  hid  away  in  the  lower  corner,  among  the  rocks,  defying  the 
spade  and  hoe.  Pigeonberry  and  comfrey  were  allowed  to  grow,  be 
cause  they  were  good  for  medicine;  but  valuable  ground  could  not  be 
cumbered  by  useless  flowers,  no  matter  how  beautiful  or  fragrant  they 
may  have  been. 

Stone  walls  divided  the  fields.  The  orchard  was  separate  and 
alone.  In  summer  the  swine  were  kept  there  to  eat  the  falling  fruit, 
and  the  rising  worms.  It  was  generally  thought,  and  with  good 
reason,  that  an  apple  orchard  produced  better  when  hogs  were  kept 
in  it. 

Squire  Ivers'  garden  was  not  unlike  those  of  other  farmers,  out  when 
the  new  house  was  built,  Walter  determined  to  have  a  nice-looking 
front  yard,  and  with  that  view  the  lawn  was  made  smooth  and  grass- 
seed  sown;  then  a  few  ornamental  plants  and  trees  were  planted  upon 
each  side  of  the  walk  leading  up  to  the  door.  Two  great  poplar 
trees  stood  guard  at  equi-distant  from  either  corner  of  the  house. 

By  the  side  of  a  brook  which  gurgled  along  at  the  bottom  of  the 
slope  were  two  golden  willows,  which  Mrs.  Ivers  had  planted  there 
many  years  before.  A  magnificent  white  ash  grew  a  little  nearer  the 
house,  where  stood  the  grindstone  and  hung  the  scythes  when  the 
noon  hour  came. 

This  great  tree  stands,  casting  its  shadows  farther  and  farther  year 
after  year,  and  the  children  of  to-day  enjoy  its  grateful  shade  as  did 
the  children  of  a  century  ago.  On  the  hillside  across  the  verdant 


56  ENDURA:    OR, 

vale  were  the  lowing  kine,  cropping  the  sweet  grass  in  summer,  or 
seeking  a  shelter  when  wintry  storms  were  rife.  Beyond  were  the 
woods,  bare  in  winter,  but  when  spring  came  they  were  clothed  in 
beauty,  and  the  thrush  andredbird  sang  their  wild  notes  amid  the  leafy 
coverts;  the  meadows  stretched  away  to  the  lowlands  where  grew  the 
wild  tiger-lilies,  to  which  was  compared  Solomon  and  his  glories;  and 
still  they  were  more  beautiful.  Like  a  flame  the  Indian  pink  stood 
up  from  the  river  bank,  and  the  blackbird,  perched  upon  its  bending 
top,  caught  its  scarlet  tints,  and,  rising,  soared  away  to  heaven  with 
Its  joyful  notes,  while  the  swallows  skimmed  the  buzzings  gnats  from 
the  tepid  stream.  When  evening  came  the  night-hawk  soared  aloft, 
and,  when  almost  above  the  clouds,  would  sound  his  trumpet  and 
shoot  again  to  earth  to  seek  his  mate.  The  whippoorwill,  with  melan 
choly  song,  perched  near,  sings  and  repeats  its  lonely  strain.  When 
the  midnight  hour  was  past,  the  cuckoo's  plantive  song  was  heard  in 
the  glade,  until  aurora  streaked  the  east,  and  the  song-birds  of  day 
sang  the  glad  tidings.  Gradually  the  stars  went  out  and  the  glorious 
sun  of  morning  shone  forth  in  all  his  splendor,  flooding  the  valley 
with  light,  and  gilding  the  hilltops;  and  another  day  of  joy  and  sor- 
was  begun. 

Those  who  are  born  in  cities,  who  have  been  denied  the  pleasure 
of  being  in  the  country  and  enjoying  its  summer  beauties,  have  lost 
one  of  the  greatest  pleasures  of  life,  a  pleasure  to  which  the  aged 
look  back  as  to  an  oasis  in  the  desert. 

All  the  enjoyments  of  life  are  sweeter  when  surrounded  by  the 
pure  and  beautiful.  Man  must  become  better  amid  such  scenes  of 
beauty  and  innocence;  even  love  itself  should  be  sweeter  where  no 
alloy  can  mingle  with  the  pure  gold.  Calm  thoughts,  rest  to  body 
and  soul,  with  nature's  benediction,  must  be  conducive  to  love  pure 
and  holy,  a  love  which  looks  above  and  beyond  self,  and  loses  it 
self  in  the  sweet  contemplation  of  others'  good.  Love  like  this 
lives  on  forever;  it  follows  that  which  has  won  it  beyond  lifes  portals, 
even  into  the  valley  and  shadow  of  death. 

At  last  the  great  house  was  completed,  and  furnished  as  well  as 
such  houses  were  expected  to  be  furnished  at  that  time. 

Happiness  and  contentment  were  found  here  for  the  young,  and 
peace  and  hope  for  the  aged. 


THREE    GENERATIONS.  57 

For  five  years  good  old  Squire  Ivers  and  his  faithful  wife  traveled 
on  together  toward  that  better  rest,  laying  up  treasures  in  heaven  by 
doing  good  upon  earth.  The  good  old  man  stumbled  at  last,  and 
the  gaping  earth  swallowed  him  up.  His  sickness  was,  as  he  could 
have  wished,  of  short  duration.  His  mind  was  clear  to  the  last. 
Standing  at  death's  portal,  he  saw  the  gates  ajar,  and,  with  a  fond 
adieu,  he  entered  in. 

His  good  wife  survived  him  but  two  or  three  years,  when  they 
met  again  upon  the  other  shore.  Renewed  in  youth,  divested  of  the 
corruptible,  they  put  on  the  incorruptible,  and  live  on  to-day  in  glory, 
joined  long  since  by  many,  who  were  the  better  for  having  followed 
their  example  here. 

When  the  Squire  died  there  was  great  mourning  throughout  the 
country,  and  all  joined  in  honoring  one  who  had  himself  honored  the 
place  where  he  lived;  and  the  day  of  his  burial  is  an  event  referred  to 
to  this  day,  when  mourning  was  throughout  the  land. 

Having  buried  the  first,  it  becomes  our  duty  to  bring  forward  the 
second  generation,  as  a  kind  of  interlude  between  the  first  and  the 
third,  to  show  the  effect  of  each  upon  the  one  succeeding  it. 

When  Jeremiah  Ivers  first  came  to  S the  neighbors  were  few 

and  far  between.  The  surrounding  country  was  heavily  timbered, 
and  wild  game  was  in  abundance.  The  bear  and  the  wolf  were 
common,  and  caused  much  damage,  at  times,  to  the  flocks  of  the 
settlers. 

We  have  read  how  young  Ivers  laid  the  foundation  for  a  moderate 
fortune ;  how  he  built  his  tents  and  cleared  the  fields,  and  planted 
crops  and  built  fences,  first  of  trees  and  then  of  stone ;  how  he 
hewed  and  cut,  and  built  buildings  to  protect  himself  and  his  cattle 
against  the  wintry  storms ;  how,  all  alone,  he  provided  a  home  for 
one  who,  as  the  grandmother  of  the  real  character  of  this  drama, 
played  an  important  part.  At  the  time  the  hardy  settler  took  unto 
himself  a  wife,  he  was  considerably  past  the  age  when  passion,  rather 
than  prudence,  predominates.  It  was  the  age  of  mature  manhood, 
and  the  one  he  selected  for  his  helpmate  had  waited  for  years  until 
her  affianced  should  say,  "Come."  It  is  true,  they  were  not  kept 
entirely  apart,  for  many  were  the  happy  hours  they  passed  together 
at  her  father's  house,  where  she  spun  and  wove  and  sewed  and  knit 


5$  ENDURA  :    OR, 

and  prepared  things  useful,  when  she  should  be  installed  mistress  of 
a  home  of  her  own. 

In  those  days  the  farmers  raised  flax,  and  broke  it  and  hackled  it, 
and  their  wives  and  daughters  spun  it  and  wove  it  into  cloth.  They 
spun  and  wove  their  wool,  and  knit  stockings  and  made  the  linsey- 
woolsey  of  which  their  best  gowns  were  manufactured — all  this 
within  one  hundred  years.  Every  intelligent  member  of  the  family 
lent  a  hand  to  assist,  both  indoor  and  out.  There  were  no  drones  in 
a  New  England  farmer's  house,  one  hundred  years  ago;  and  who 
shall  say  they  were  not  as  happy  then  as  now? 

Is  there  any  wonder  that  our  old  homes  have  fallen  into  ruins, 
when  their  inhabitants  have  become  so  indifferent  and  shiftless  as 
have  those  of  the  present  generation?  Their  higher  education  has 
not  been  conducive  to  the  welfare  and  prosperity  of  the  country, 
nor  has  improved  machinery  helped  the  poor.  Their  labors  are  no 
less,  and  their  comforts,  no  more.  The  few  luxuries  that  we  enjoy 
to-day,  which  were  denied  our  ancestors,  are  outweighed  by  the 
effeminacy  they  have  produced. 

But  we  are  not  arguing  the  pros  or  cons  of  society,  and  we  will 
take  the  world  as  we  find  it,  and  go  on  with  our  story. 

The  family  cares  of  Walter  Ivers  increased  from  year  to  year. 
They  had  been  married  nearly  three  years  when  Bernard  was  born, 
and  fully  eight  years  more  elapsed  before  was  born  the  daughter, 
whose  remarkable  history  will  be  related  in  the  following  pages. 


THREE    GENERATIONS.  59 


CHAPTER  IX. 

"  ENDURA." 

A  lavish  planet  reigned  when  she  was  born, 
And  made  her  of  such  kindred  mould  to  heaven 
She  seems  more  heaven's  than  ours. 

— Lee's  (Edipus. 

ENDURA  IVERS'  advent  into  the  world  was  an  occasion  of  great 
rejoicing.  Already  had  her  little  brother  Bernard  wound  him 
self  into  the  affections  of  his  fond  and  happy  parents.  Almost 
every  indulgence  was  granted  him;  all  his  surroundings  were  pleasant; 
his  disposition  was  gentle,  unlike  most  children  of  his  sex;  his  percep 
tion  was  keen,  and  he  had  all  the  attributes  of  high  nobility. 

He  was  taught  to  love  his  little  sister,  and  she,  in  turn,  looked  up  to 
her  brother  as  to  one  of  superior  attainments;  and  this  feeling  grew 
with  the  children,  so  that  when  Endura  was  yet  but  a  child,  and 
Bernard  scarcely  more  than  a  lad,  she  magnified  him  into  a  hero,  and 
a  great  man. 

The  first  rudiments  of  learning  were  taught  him  at  home,  so  that 
when  he  went  to  the  district  school  he  was  even  more  advanced  than 
many  who  had  been  sent  there  a  number  of  terms  before.  He  could 
spell  and  read  and  cipher,  and  stood  at  all  times  at  the  head  of  his 
class;  and  it  was  quite  natural  that  he  should  be  the  favorite,  and  to 
some  extent,  the  pet  of  the  teachers. 

This  was  gratifying  to  his  parents,  and  encouraged  them  to  ren 
der  him  all  the  assistance  which  was  in  their  power,  in  order  that  he 
should  maintain  the  position  which  he  had  reached  at  a  bound. 

As  a  youth,  he  was  noble;  of  generous  instincts,  and  great  mental 
powers,  far  beyond  any  of  his  play-fellows  or  comrades.. 

Bernard  Ivers  was  of  a  peculiar  type.  As  a  boy  and  youth,  aside 
from  his  high  mental  acquirements,  he  was  remarkable.  He  was  what 
is  called  a  pretty  boy;  tall,  well-formed,  and  graceful  in  every  move 
ment.  His  complexion  was  dark;  eyes  and  hair  decidedly  black. 


6o 


ENDURA  :     OR, 


Every  expression  lent  beauty  to  his  face,  and  every  movement  was 
grace  itself.  His  father  used  to  call  him  his  little  Frenchman,  and 
his  play-fellows  could  think  of  no  worse  nickname  than  "Frenchy." 
Of  course,  he  had  rivals;  competitors  in  study,  and  those  who  were 
envious  of  his  position,  and  of  the  favors  he  received.  Up  to  the 
time  he  was  twelve  years  old  he  was  called  by  some  of  the  ill-natured 
ones  the  girl-boy.  They  said  he  was  tied  to  his  mother's  apron- 
strings,  which  was  thought  to  mean  a  great  deal. 

His  inclinations  were  toward  mercantile  pursuits.  His  grandfather 
had  been  a  thoroughly  practical  man;  his  father  a  gentleman  of  en 
larged  views,  generous  and  enterprising.  What  the  good  old  gentle 
man  had  accumulated  the  young  Squire  kept  together  and  added  to. 

Walter  Ivers,  Esq.,  was  well  calculated  to  fill  the  position  occu 
pied  by  his  father.  All  the  honors  and  offices  that  he  would  accept 
were  thrust  upon  him,  and  he  filled  all  places  with  ability  and  credit 
to  himself.  Being  of  a  more  convivial  turn  of  mind  than  his  father 
had  been,  he  naturally  won  friends  who  avoided  his  more  matter-of- 
fact  father. 

The  young  Squire  was  ambitious,  and  when  a  candidate  was 
wanted  for  a  political  position,  he  was  sought  out,  and  without  much 
trouble  induced  to  accept.  Preferments  and  offices  were,  then  as 
now,  expensive;  and  those  of  moderate  means  could  not  afford  to 
accept  them,  when  the  expenses  were  great  and  the  emoluments 
few. 

Walter  Ivers  was  Brigadier-General  of  the  State  Militia.  He  was 
Overseer  of  the  Town  Poor.  He  was  president  of  the  same  bank  of 
which  his  father  had  been  before  him.  He  was  one  of  the  Town 
Council, School  Committeeman, Overseer  of  the  Public  High-ways,and 
a  standing  candidate  for  president  of  all  meetings, whether  political  or 
otherwise.  He  took  an  active  part  in  everything  which  he  believed  was 
for  the  good  of  the  community  in  which  he  lived.  Even  the  Church 
felt  the  influence  of  his  mind  and  his  purse.  He  was  a  generous 
supporter  of  the  cause,  though  perhaps  somewhat  lax  in  his  example. 
The  puritanical  doctrine  predominated,  almost  to  the  exclusion  of 
other  creeds.  If  any  other  religious  belief  was  promulgated,  it  was 
at  once  frowned  down  by  the  zealous  Methodists  or  the  hard-shelled 
Baptists.  Squire  Ivers  not  only  tolerated,  but  actually  encouraged 


THREE    GENERATIONS.  6  I 

new  doctrines  and  new  teachings;  so  much  so,  that  some  of  the  more 
bigoted  accused  him  of  infidelity  and  predicted  that  he  was  sowing 
the  wind  and  would  reap  the  whirlwind. 

About  the  time  of  which  we  write,  a  wealthy  gentleman  from  the 
city,  purchased  a  place  in  the  village.  He  made  extensive  improve 
ments,  and  finally  built  a  beautiful  house,  to  which  in  time  he 
brought  his  family,  consisting  of  a  wife  and  two  children,  a  boy  and 
girl. 

Mrs.  Haywood  was  a  perfect  lady,  and  the  children  were  well 
brought  up,  and  bid  fair  to  become  ornaments  to  society. 

At  first  the  women  in  the  place  visited  the  family  and  seemed 
disposed  to  cultivate  the  acquaintance  of  the  strange  lady. 

Unfortunately,  the  new  comer  made  known  her  religious  belief, 
which  happened  to  be  of  the  sect  called  Universalists.  When  it 
became  known  that  she  believed  in  such  a  doctrine,  every  woman  in 
the  village  shun  ned  her,  and  they  even  went  so  far  as  not  to  allow 
their  children  to  play  with  hers. 

They  were  encouraged  in  their  treatment  of  the  Haywoods,  by 
universal  condemnation  of  Universalism  by  all  the  ministers  who 
preached  the  good  old  doctrine  of  hell-fire  and  brimstone,  which 
had  been  handed  down  to  them  from  generation  to  generation, 

Mrs.  Tartar  was  considered  good  authority,  and  Mrs.  Cramp  said 
she  had  heard,  and  she  was  pretty  sure  it  came  from  Mrs.  Tartar, 

because  it  was  told  her  by  Miss  ;  but  she  bethought  herself  and 

did  not  give  the  name.  It  was  presumedly  Miss  Cutting,  who  had 
told  her  that  a  great  black  dog  had  been  seen  about  the  village  since 
the  Haywoods  came  there,  which  had  never  been  seen  there  before, 
and  some  people  did  think  that  that  great  dog  was  Satan  himself, 
hanging  around  ready  to  take  charge  of  the  soul  of  that  wicked  man 
as  soon  as  the  breath  left  his  body. 

There  was  another  very  mysterious  man  living  in  the  neighbor 
hood.  His  house  was  said  to  be  haunted  and  strange  things 
occurred  there  constantly.  Strange  lights  had  often  been  seen  in  his 
garret  and  strange  noises  heard,  though  no  one  was  found  rash  enough 
to  investigate  the  mysterious  stronghold.  It  was  generally  under 
stood  that  Mr.  Haywood  knew  this  mysterious  man.  In  fact,  it  was 
supposed  that  they  were  interested  together  in  some  dark  plot  to  de- 


62  ENDURA:  OR, 

stroy  the  peace  and  good  name  of  the  place.  These  whisperings  grew 
louder  and  louder,  until  it  became  common  talk,  and  circumstances 
soon  came  to  pass  that  decided  the  inhabitants  to  take  some  public 
action  in  the  matter. 

The  strange  man  who  had  been  suspected  of  being  a  confederate 
of  Haywood's,  really  made  his  appearance  in  those  parts  some  time 
before  him,  and  built  a  very  queer-looking  house,  not  entirely  unlike 
others  in  the  neighborhood,  except  its  foundation  and  attic.  It  was 
two  full  stories  in  front,  running  back  to  a  ledge  in  the  rear 
that  was  somewhat  higher  than  that  portion  of  the 
house,  which  was  but  one  story.  The  ledge  which  sloped 
gently  away  from  the  house,  was  covered  with  timber,  that  was 
rather  a  protection  against  northerly  storms.  From  the  edge  of  this 
cliff  was  built  a  strong  bridge,  or  causeway,  over  the  lower  portion 
of  the  house,  and  through  a  kind  of  dormer  window  into  the  upper 
story,  which  was  intended,  as  he  said,  for  a  stable  for  his  horse.  The 
floor  upon  which  he  intended  his  cattle  to  stand  was  very  strong,  and 
rounding  to  the  center  like  the  deck  of  a  ship,  and  then  covered  well 
with  a  tough  clay,  so  that  no  sound  could  be  heard  below.  Every 
provision  was  made  for  horses,  and  the  careless  ones  said,  "  What  an 
old  fool !"  and  laughed  at  his  ecentricities. 

This  odd  old  man  was  known  far  and  near  as  "  Goold  Smith," 
and  his  profession  was  that  of  a  tinker,  and  maker  of  silver  spoons, 
some  of  which  may  he  seen  in  the  neighborhood  to  this  day.  The 
old  man  would  go  about  the  country  and  gather  up  old  metal  and 
gold  and  silver,  which  he  would  manufacture  into  spoons  and  gold 
beads,  which  were  much  in  vogue  at  the  time  of  which  we  write. 
^  Sometimes  the  old  tinker  would  be  gone  for  weeks  together,  and 
return  home  loaded  down  with  material  for  his  workshop.  When 
the  spoons  or  necklaces  were  done  he  would  set  out  to  deliver  them. 
His  customers  were  from  far  and  near.  Some  of  the  more  risky  of 
the  neighbors  ventured  to  patronize  him,  and  they  were  usually  well 
pleased  with  his  work. 

Mr.  Ivers  concluded  to  have  him  make  some  spoons,  and  in  due 
course  of  time  they  were  sent  home,  all  lettered  and  polished.  No 
one  was  ever  invited  into  his  workshop,  and  they  only  knew  that  he 
did  as  he  agreed,  and  did  not  care  to  pry  into  the  old  man's  secrets. 


THREE    GENERATIONS.  63 

The  mare  which  the  old  man  rode  most  of  the  time  was  a  marked 
animal.  Just  one-half  of  her  head  was  white,  while  the  other  was 
black.  One  of  her  eyes  was  white,  and  the  other  as  black 
as  a  coal.  Her  mane  and  tail  were  white,  and  white  and 
black  spots  covered  her  body.  One  fore-foot  and  one  hind-foot  was 
black,  and  the  others  were  white.  Her  walk  was  like  that  of  the 
camel,  and  her  trot,  or  whatever  her  more  rapid  movements  might 
be  termed,  was  like  the  swing  of  an  elephant  when  being  hurried 
along.  The  animal  was  never  seen  once  but  she  was  known  next 
time. 

A  great  robbery  and  murder  was  supposed  to  have  been  committed 

something  like  eight  or  nine  miles  from  S ,  and  it  was  thought 

advisable  to  employ  a  detective  from  the  city  to  work  up  the  case. 
The  bones  of  a  horse,  with  saddle  and  bridle  still  fastened  to  the 
carcass,  were  discovered  in  a  deep,  dark  swamp,  at  some  considerable 
distance  from  the  public  road.  The  animal  appeared  to  have  been 
tied  to  a  tree  with  a  strong  rope,  and,  as  far  as  was  known,  was 
then  killed  outright,  or  allowed  to  starve  to  death. 

It  was  finally  ascertained  that  the  horse  and  saddle  were 
owned  and  ridden  by  a  peddler  who  passed  that  way  years  before, 
and  who  was  never  seen  or  heard  of  again. 

It  was,  without  doubt,  a  foul  murder,  and  the  poor  horse  was  made 
to  suffer  that  he  might  not  excite  suspicion  by  appearing  without  his 
master.  Every  effort  was  made  to  unravel  the  mystery,  that  could 
possibly  be  made. 

The  theory  of  some  was  that  the  man  was  murdered  and  put 
upon  his  horse  and  carried  into  the  dense  swamp  where  the  bones 
were  found,  and  there  sunk  in  one  of  the  many  mire  holes  which 
abounded.  These  holes  were  all  sounded  and  dragged,  but  no  signs 
of  human  bones  were  brought  up. 

Hundreds  of  curious  people  from  the  surrounding  country  went  to 
the  spot  and  stayed  for  hours,  in  hopes  that  something  would  de 
velop  to  satisfy  their  morbid  curiosity.  Something  horrible  and  re 
volting  was  momentarily  expected,  as  the  workmen  poked  and 
dragged  the  green,  slimy  waters,  or  the  stinking  mud,  as  it  was  drawn 
upon  the  quivering  banks.  For  weeks  the  excitement  was  kept  up. 
Months  even  elapsed  before  the  search  was  abandoned.  One  or  two 


64  ENDURA:   OR, 

celebrated  detectives  were  employed  by  the  authorities  to  clear  up 
the  mystery;  others,  hearing  of  the  affair,  came  from  a  distance  and 
visited  the  spot,  hoping  to  add  to  their  laurels  by  discovering  some 
clue  to  the  murdered  or  murderer. 

Goold  Smith  was  returning  home  from  one  of  his  long  tramps, 
and,  happening  to  be  in  the  neighborhood,  he  thought  he  would  ride 
into  the  swamp  and  see  what  could  be  seen. 

There  were  a  great  many  strangers  present.  One  in  particular 
seemed  to  take  a  great  notion  to  the  remarkable  horse  which  the  old 
man  rode.  He  watched  the  rider  closely  as  though  he  knew  him. 

Once  or  twice  he  tried  to  draw  the  old  man  into  conversation,  but 
in  vain.  The  strange  man  with  a  strange  horse  seemed  to  prefer  to 
be  by  himself  and  go  by  himself.  He  showed  that  he  was  annoyed 
by  trying  to  avoid  the  stranger,  which  made  the  cunning  man  all  the 
more  anxious  to  make  his  acquaintance.  When,  at  last,  the  old 
tinker  started  out  of  the  woods,  the  detective  followed  him, 
determined  to  keep  in  his  company.  Whenever  the  queer-look 
ing  old  horse  was  urged  into  a  trot  he  found  the  strange  roadster 
close  by  his  side;  when  he  subsided  into  a  walk,  the  other  would 
walk  also;  whichever  road  the  spotted  horse  took  the  bay 
would  follow.  It  was  growing  late,  and  the  detective  did  not 
know  whither  he  was  being  led;  but  he  was  well  armed  and  con 
stantly  on  his  guard.  The  shades  of  night  were  settling  fast,  and  it 
began  to  be  quite  difficult  to  see  the  road;  but  Mr.  Sharp,  which  was 
the  name  by  which  the  detective  was  known,  knew  something  of  his 
locality  by  the  distance  they  had  ridden,  and  the  general  course 
they  had  kept.  Of  a  sudden  the  old  man  halted,  and  getting 
off  his  horse  opened  some  bars,  and  turned  in  a  from  road.  Mr.  Sharp 
rode  on,  and  after  some  inquiry  by  the  way  learned  that  the  village 

of  W was  but  about  two  miles  ahead.  This  was  the  post  village 

where  Mr.  Hay  wood  lived,  though,  at  that  time,  but  little  known  to 
the  neighbors,  he  was  well-known  to  Mr.  Sharp,  who  had  done  busi 
ness  for  him  in  the  city.  He  knew  his  patron  lived  during  the  sum 
mer  at  a  place  of  that  name,  and  he  immediately  concluded  that  this 
was  the  very  place.  Upon  entering  the  village  his  first  inquiry  was 
for  Mr.  Haywood;  his  house  was  pointed  out  to  him,  and  thither  he 
turned  the  head  of  his  tired  steed. 


THREE    GENERATIONS.  65 

Mr.  Haywood  was  well  pleased  to  meet  his  old  acquaintance,  and 
cordially  welcomed  him  to  his  village  home.  When  they  were  com 
fortably  seated  in  the  little  sitting-room  Mr.  Haywood  began  the 
conversation  by  saying: 

"  Well,  well;  who  would  have  expected  to  see  you  in  this  out-of-the- 
way  place  at  this  time.  After  somebody,  I  suppose  ?" 

"Rather  say  I  came  with  somebody;  for  really,  the  party  will 
scarcely  say  I  was  chary  of  my  company." 

"  Perhaps  your  companion  would  have  preferred  company  of  his 
own  choosing." 

"Be  that  as  it  may,  we  did  not  quarrel." 

"  Who  might  be  this  traveling  companion  who  has  lured  you  thus 
far  into  the  bowels  of  the  land  ?  " 

u  There  you  have  me.  I  was  about  to  put  a  similar  question  to 
you;  surely  you  ought  to  be  acquainted  with  your  neighbor.  I  would 
ask  you  who  lives  in  your  neighborhood  with  a  calico  horse  ?  An 
animal  that,  without  doubt,  is  a  direct  descendant  of  the  ones  manu 
factured  to  order  by  Jacob,  upon  his  final  settlement  with  his  father- 
in-law  Laban." 

"  Oh,  I  dare  say,  you  refer  to  old  Mr.  Smith,  who  lives  up  the 
road  about  two  miles." 

"  It  is  exceedingly  hard  telling  where  he  lives  the  most  of  his  time; 
but  he  turned  into  the  woods  just  about  as  far  from  the  village  as 
you  say.  It  was  getting  dark,  or  I  might  have  accompanied  him  to 
the  end  of  his  journey." 

"You  would  not  have  had  far  to  go,  as  he  lives  but  little  more 
than  half  a  mile  from  the  road  where  he  turned  into  the  woods." 

"  What  kind  of  a  man  is  this  Mr.  Smith  ?  There  is  something 
rather  strange  about  him." 

"  Yes,  he  is  quite  eccentric,  but  a  quiet,  honest  man,  I  believe;  he 
is  a  kind  of  silversmith — makes  spoons  and  tinkers  in  that  line." 

"How  long  has  he  lived  here?" 

"  Some  years  I  believe.  He  has  quite  a  nice  place  down  through 
the  woods,  where  he  does  his  work;  in  fact,  he  built  the  house  he  lives 
in,  and  a  very  peculiar  house  it  is." 

"  Why  peculiar?  " 

"  Well,    it   is  strangely  constructed  they   say;  and    the    situation 


66  ENDURA  I   OR, 

is  a  singular  one;  the  house  is  quite  imposing  in  front,  and  slopes 
back  to  an  almost  perpendicular  bluff,  from  which  there  is  a 
draw-bridge,  over  which  he  takes  his  old  mare  to  help  him  work  his 
press,  as  he  calls  it.  In  the  garret  of  the  house  there  is  a  forge,  and 
a  kind  of  horse-power  by  which  he  plies  his  trade,  the  floor  of  this  at 
tic  is  arched  like  the  deck  of  a  ship,  and  thickly  covered  with  tough 
clay.  There  is  but  one  way  this  room  can  be  entered,  and  that  is 
from  the  bluff  over  the  draw-bridge.  When  he  crosses  over,  and  goes 
in,  the  bridge  goes  up,  and  so  remains  until  by  some  machinery,  he 
lowers  it  again  and  makes  his  egress,  when  it  rises  up  again,  com 
pletely  hiding  the  door  which,  like  a  dormer  window,  is  in  through 
the  roof." 

"  You  have  interested  me  immensely  by  the  account  you  give  of 
the  old  man,  and  I  will  now  tell  you  where,  and  under  what  circum 
stances,  I  met  him. 

"  You  are  aware  that  there  has  been  a  great  deal  of  excitement 
about  the  supposed  murder  of  a  man  in  the  adjoining  town. 

"The  skeleton  of  a  horse  was  found,  supposed  to  have  be 
longed  to  a  peddler  who  disappeared  four  or  five  years  ago,  about 
whom  there  has  been  much  speculation.  It  is  presumed  there 
has  been  foul  play,  and  I  thought  I  would  like  to  know  something 
more  of  the  matter  than  I  could  learn  from  the  newspapers  or  hear 
say,  so  I  concluded  to  ride  out  to  the  swamp  and  see  for  myself. 

"  I  found  a  great  many  people  gathered  there,  intent  upon  discover 
ing  some  clue  to  the  mysterious  affair.  Some  were  digging  in  the 
mire  and  mud,  and  others  were  clearing  away  the  mould,  seeking  for 
the  bones  of  the  departed  peddler. 

"  I  remained  there  several  hours,  when  I  saw  a  horse  which  arrested 
my  attention.  The  horse  was  ridden  by  a  man  almost  as  marked  as 
the  animal  he  rode. 

"  I  tried,  in  vain,  to  draw  the  strange  man  into  conversation,  and  I 
thought  I  noticed  an  anxiety  to  get  rid  of  me,  which  made  me  all 
the  more  persistent;  so  when,  at  last,  he  turned  to  leave,  I 
concluded  to  accompany  him,  whither  I  did  not  know.  We 
traveled  together  for  three  hours,  going  this  way,  and  that  until 
it  began  to  grow  dark,  when  we  reached  the  bars  where  my  compan 
ion  turned  into  the  woods,  after  which  I  rode  on.  Meeting  a  man, 


THREE   GENERATIONS.  67 

I  inquired  the  way  to  the  nearest  inn,  when  he  directed  me  to  this 
village.  Remembering  that  you  lived  in  a  place  similar  in  name,  I 
asked  the  first  person  I  met  in  the  street  if  such  a  man  lived  here,  and 
was  immediately  shown  this  as  your  residence,  and  never  was  the 
sight  of  an  inn  more  welcome.  And  such  an  inn !  But  perhaps  I 
am  so  delighted  that  I  am  over  free." 

"  Not  a  whit.  There  could  scarcely  have  been  a  friend  I  would 
more  cordially  welcomed." 

Just  then  Mrs.  Haywood  entered,  and  was  introduced,  and  soon 
the  children  came  in.  Mrs.  Haywood  said  she  had  heard  her  hus 
band  speak  of  Mr.  Sharp  frequently,  and  she  did  not  think  he  be 
lied  his  name,  if  what  was  said  was  true. 

Mr.  Sharp  thanked  her  and  said  were  it  not  for  his  profession  he 
should  think  it  a  questionable  compliment.  But  he  supposed  it  must 
sharpen  one's  wits  to  be  constantly  on  the  look  out  for  rogues.  In 
fact,  it  had  become  a  kind  of  second  nature  to  measure  every  man 
he  came  in  contact  with,  often  judging  unjustly,  no  doubt,  but  on 
the  whole  he  had  detected  many  rouges  whose  every  appearance  was 
that  of  honest  men.  There  was  an  old  saying  that  the  devil  usually- 
left  the  bars  down,  and  he  thought  it  was  so. 

Mrs.  Haywood  asked  if  he  was  upon  the  track  of  some  one  in  or 
about  the  village. 

He  said  no,  he  could  not  say  that  he  was ;  it  was  a  mere  matter  of 
curiosity  which  brought  him  there,  and  he  should  not  regret  it  if 
nothing  more  came  out  of  it,  than  meeting  his  old  friend  Haywood.. 

Mr.  Haywood  suggested  that  supper  was  ready;  our  traveller- 
acknowledged  that  to  be  a  welcome  announcement,  and  they  repaired 
to  the  dinning-room.  When  the  conversation  continued,  Mr.  Sharp' 
asked  about  the  people  of  the  village,  and,  was  told  that  they  were 
an  honest  set,  but  quite  clanish  and  somewhat  superstitious.  The 
Doctor  was  a  social  man  and  a  very  good  physician,  and  some  of  the 
people  in  the  surrounding  country,  were  genial,  pleasant  people; 
amongst  them  he  named  Squire  Ivers,  who,  he  said,  was  one  of  the 
substantial  farmers,  as  well  as  one  of  the  most  enlightened  gentlemen 
in  that  part  of  the  country,  and  Mrs.  Ivers  was  an  elegant  and 
accomplished  lady;  besides  they  had  two  children,  a  son  and  a  daugh 
ter,  the  latter  somewhat  yonnger  than  Willie — meaning  their  son. 


68  ENDURA  :    OR, 

Mr.  Sharp  expressed  a  desire  to  meet  Mr.  Ivers,  upon  which  Mr. 
Hay  wood  said  he  would  drive  him  around  that  way  next  day.  He 
said  he  should  expect  him  to  remain  a  number  of  days,  and  he 
wanted  to  show  him  the  country. 

Mr.  Sharp  said  he  could  not  deny  himself  the  pleasure  of  remain 
ing  over  one  day,  but  that  his  duties  would  scarcely  allow  him  to 
stay  longer.  The  evening  wore  on  and  our  traveller  was  glad  when 
it  was  suggested  that  it  was  time  to  retire.  He  would  have  been  per 
fectly  willing  to  have  done  so  an  hour  ago  but  disliked  himself  to 
break  off  the  conversation  which  had  become  general  and  interest- 
to  all. 


THREE    GENERATIONS.  69 


CHAPTER  X. 

A    STRANGE    BEAST. 

Imagination  works ;  how  can  she  frame 
Things  which  are  not ;  methinks  she  stands  before  me. 

And  by  the  quick  idea  of  my  mind, 
Were  my  skill  pregnant,  I  could  draw  her  picture. 

—  Webster. 

A  FTER  their  guest  had  retired,  Mrs.  Haywood  asked  her  husband 
1\  if  he  thought  Mr.  Smith  was  suspected  of  wrong  doing.  Mr. 
Haywood  said  he  did  not  think  so,  but  you  could  not  expect  a  detec 
tive  to  give  away  his  business. 

Mr.  Sharp  was  very  tired,  and  would  have  gone  to  sleep  immedi 
ately,  but  somehow  that  queer,  old  horse  seemed  to  haunt  him. 

Once  during  the  night,  he  awoke  after  a  kind  of  nightmare.  That 
veritable  white  eye  seemed  to  be  glaring  at  him,  and  her  hoofs  were 
on  the  point  of  trampling  him  down,  when  he  awoke,  and  strangely 
enough,  it  flashed  across  his  mind,  where  he  had  seen  the  animal 
before,  the  same  old  mare,  with  the  same  leathern  saddle-bags, 
and  the  circumstance  as  he  remembered  it  was  not  unlike  his  dream. 
He  was  on  the  track  of  some  counterfeiter  in  a  distant  town,  and  had 
really  captured  a  man  with  some  of  the  queer  in  his  possession  and 
was  having  considerable  difficulty  in  holding  him,  he  being  sur 
rounded  by  his  friends,  who  were  ready  to  vouch  for  his  honesty 
and  respectability.  While  he  was  struggling  with  the  apparently  des 
perate,  but  really  indignant  individual  in  the  middle  of  the  street,  a 
man  on  horseback  rode  by,  and  that  so  near  to  the  two  men  that  they 
were  compelled  to  step  one  side,  when  Mr.  Sharp  caught  a  glimpse  of 
that  glaring  white  eye,  but  of  course,  being  excited  he  took  no  far 
ther  note  of  the  strange  animal  or  of  the  rider. 

The  man  who  was  arrested  by  him,  proved  to  be  a  worthy  citizen 
who  had  sold  some  produce  and  taken  some  of  the  counterfeit  coin, 
in  payment.  The  same  party  afterwards  finding  another  purchaser 
took  his  good  money  at  a  trifling  reduction  from  what  he  had  given  for 


70  ENDURA  :    OR, 

the  produce  only  the  day  before  and  departed  no  one  knew  whither- 
Mr.  Sharp  could  not  sleep,  tired  and  all  as  he  was,  but  he  thought  of 
that  old  horse  and  of  the  old  man ;  and  what  if  he  should  really  be 
the  one  who  was  making  the  counterfeit  money,  and  going  to  distant 
parts  in  order  to  dispose  of  it  with  safety  and  without  suspicion? 
And  might  he  not  have  accomplices  in  all  those  places  where  the  stuff 
had  been  so  freely  circulated  ? 

Our  detective  was  out  in  good  season  the  next  morning,  and 
enjoyed  his  breakfast  very  much.  Mrs.  Hay  wood,  after  the  custom  of 
hostesses,  asked  how  he  had  rested. 

Mr.  Sharp  said  if  he  did  not  sleep,  it  was  not  the  fault  of  the  room 
or  the  bed,  for  he  never  remembered  having  lain  upon  a  nicer  one. 

He  kept  his  counsel,  and  after  looking  around  the  place,  Mr.  Hay- 
wood  concluded  it  was  about  time  for  them  to  set  out  for  their  ride. 
The  vehicle  was  a  commodious  one,  with  two  broad  seats,  so  that 
Mrs.  Haywood  and  both  children  were  comfortably  seated  on  the 
back  seat,  while  Mr.  Haywood  and  Mr.  Sharp  occupied  the  front. 
Their  first  drive  was  around  the  road  by  which  the  detective  had 
come  the  night  before.  He  readily  remembered  the  bars  where  the 
old  man  had  dismounted,  but  they  did  not  go  in  sight  of  the 
mysterious  house. 

About  dinner  time,  which  has  always  been  at  mid-day  in  New 
England  farm  houses,  they  reached  Mr.  Ivers',  who  was  delighted  to 
see  them ;  and  Mrs.  Ivers,  always  at  ease,  soon  put  them  all  so. 

Dinner  was  soon  ready — and  such  a  dinner!  They  are  enjoyed 
nowhere  except  in  good  old  New  England;  and  even  the  dinners 
now,  do  not  seem  to  be  like  what  they  then  were. 

Such  pork,  such  beef,  such  vegetables,  such  brown  bread,  such 
Johnny  cakes,  such  pies,  such  puddings — such  everything,  that  was 
put  upon  a  farmer's  table,  at  the  time  of  which  we  write!  And  to-day 
even,  notwithstanding  the  general  decay  of  our  old  homes,  there  are 
many  good  housewives,  and  many  good  dinners  served.  Even  the 
poorest  have  not  lost  the  art  of  making  Johnny-cakes,  which,  with 
their  good,  sweet  butter,  is  food  for  the  gods.  After  dinner,  while 
jvlr.  Ivers  showed  the  gentlemen  around  the  place,  Mrs.  Ivers  enter 
tained  Mrs.  Haywood  in  the  parlor,  and  the  children  romped  together 
on  the  green.  Those  were  halcyon  days  for  New  England.  Happi- 


THREE    GENERATIONS.  71 

ness  and  contentment  abounded,  and  prosperity  sat  smiling  o'er  the 
land. 

After  being  most  agreeably  entertained  and  well  rested,  our  tourists 
bade  good-bye  to  their  kind  friends,  and  went  on  their  way.  Mr. 
Sharp  was  much  interested  in  everything  he  saw,  and  as  Mr.  So-and 
so's  place  was  pointed  out,  he  could  seem  to  understand  the  character 
of  the  men  by  the  appearance  of  their  houses  and  their  surroundings ; 
and  he  was  not  far  from  being  correct. 

They  were  driving  along  a  road  well  on  their  way  home  when  Mr. 
Haywood  called  his  friend's  attention  to  a  house  nearly  hidden  in 
the  woods,  apparently  a  mile  or  so  from  the  highway  they  were  on. 
He  told  him  that  was  Mr.  Smith's  house,  his  traveling  companion  of 
the  night  before. 

Mr.  Sharp  took  his  bearings  and  mentally  resolved  that  he  would 
know  more  of  the  strange  trio,  namely,  the  man,  the  horse  and  the 
house.  Returning  to  the  village  all  were  well  pleased,  they  having 
had  a  delightful  day. 

The  next  day  after  enjoying  a  good  night's  rest  Mr.  Sharp  took  his 
departure,  promising  to  call  again  if  he  happened  to  be  in  those 
parts. 

After  Mr.  Sharp  had  left  it  was  vaguely  whispered  who  he  was  and 
what  he  was. 

A  quartette  of  good  Christians  met  at  Mr.  Tartar's.  There  were 
Miss  Cramp  and  Miss  Cutting  and  Deacon  Garner  and  Mr.  Cribbe. 

"Well,"  said  Mrs.  Tartar  to  Mr.  Cribbe,  "what  do  you  think  of 
the  goings  on  ?  What  do  you  think  of  your  nice  gentleman  now,  the 
man  whom  you  thought  had  as  much  right  to  his  belief  as  any 
of  us,  going  around  with  nobody  knows  who,  and  doing  all  sorts 
of  things,  even  to  playing  the  riddle  on  the  Sabbath  day,  and  teach 
ing  his  children  to  dance?" 

Mr.  Cribbe  said  he  did  not  think  there  was  any  law  against  fiddling 
on  Sunday  or  on  any  other  day  he  might  choose. 

"  I  suppose  he  can  drive  around  the  country  with  strangers  and 
bad  characters  if  he  has  a  mind  to,"  put  in  Miss  Cramp. 

11  And  go  to  people's  houses  and  spread  his  wicked  doctrine  among 
the  neighbors, "said  Miss  Cutting. 


72  ENDURA:  OR, 

"  As  for  that,",  put  in  Mrs.  Tartar,  "  I  do  not  believe  the  Ivers  are 
much  better  than  he  is." 

"  If  I  remember  aright,  Squire  Ivers  helped  your  son  out  of  a  little 
difficulty  once." 

"  You  needn't  throw  that  up  to  me,  for  that  affair  was  settled  long 
ago,  and  the  miserable  fellow  was  not  half  so  badly  hurt  as  he  pre 
tended." 

"  Besides  it  was  the  Old  Squire  we  asked  a  favor  of  and  not  Wal 
ter,  who  had  enough  to  do  to  get  out  of  scrapes  of  his  own  at  that 
time." 

"  Perhaps  I  may  have  forgotten,  but  I  do  not  remember  that  Wal 
ter  had  any  very  bad  scaapes  to  get  out  of." 

"No  scrapes  indeed!  What  was  he  doing  with  that  woman  in 
New  York,  when  he  was  caught  and  arrested  on  the  spot  ?  I  should 
like  to  know  what  you  call  a  scrape  if  that  was  not  one." 

"  Yes,  but  if  I  mistake  not,  she  proved  to  have  been  one  of  the 
gang  who  had  robbed  him,  and  she  was  sent  to  seduce  him  or  buy 
him  off,  and  when  she  found  she  could  not  she  took  advantage  of  her 
situation  and  alarmed  the  house.  It  was  proved  afterwards  that  she 
was  a  bad  woman,  and  she  was  tried  and  imprisoned  with  her  con 
federates." 

"  All  very  well,  but  what  business  had  he  being  in  company  with 
such  characters  ?  " 

"  The  same  business  that  you  have  living  in  the  same  village  with 
that  wicked  man,  Mr.  Hay  wood." 

'•You  may  talk  all  you  have  a  mind  to,  Peter  Cribbe,  but  you 
can't  make  me  believe  Walter  Ivers  is  the  nice  young  man  you  pre 
tend  he  is." 

"  For  my  part,"  said  Miss  Cutting,"  "  I  should  not  want  him  for  a 
husband." 

"  Perhaps  that  may  account  for  his  taking  up  with  Miss  Dubrow," 
said  Mr.  Cribbe. 

Deacon  Garner  said  it  was  better  not  to  be  too  personal.  For  his 
part  he  had  nothing  against  Walter  Ivers  ;  and  as  for  the  trouble  he 
had  in  New  York  he  did  not  think  Walter  was  to  blame. 

Mrs.  Cramp  said  he  had  no  business  in  New  York,  and  there  was 


THREE    GENERATIONS.  73 

no  knowing  whether  the  truth  had  been  told  or  not.  One  thing  was 
certain — a  man  may  be  known  by  the  company  he  keeps. 

"  At  that  rate,  what  do  you  make  me  out?  "  said  Mr.  Cribbe. 

"There's  that  poor  gal,  Sally  Vic,  who  lives  with  the  Ivers'.  They 
make  a  slave  of  her  and  she  is  so  weakly,"  said  Mrs,  Cramp. 

"  They  do  say  she  has  the  consumption, "said  Miss  Cutting. 

"And  yet  they  make  her  take  care  of  those  children  who  are 
humored  like  two  great  babies.  And  she  does  their  washing,  I'm 
told,  and  cook's,  and  waits  on  the  family  just  like  a  nigger,"  said 
Mrs.  Tartar. 

Mrs.  Cramp  said  it  was  awful,  and  she  heard  that  they  threatened 
to  expose  her  to  everybody  because  her  father  was  in  the  State  prison. 

Mr.  Cribbe  said  he  knew  better.  That  whatever  other  people 
might  say,  he  knew  that  the  girl  was  treated  tenderly,  and  that  Mrs. 
Ivers  was  all  the  time  trying  to  make  her  work  light  by  assisting  in 
everything,  and  that  he  had  heard  Mrs.  Ivers  say  she  should  not  wash 
the  clothes.  But  she  would  work  all  the  time  in  spite  of  Mr.  or  Mrs. 
Ivers. 

"  Oh,  yes,  when  you  are  there  they  pretend  to  be  very  kind  to  her, 
no  doubt,"  said  Mrs.  Tartar. 

"And  what  about  that  poor  Mr.  Carter  who  had  a  note  at  the 
bank  and  could  not  pay,  and  Walter  made  him  sign  over  part  of  his 
farm.  Was  that  done  like  a  Christian,"  said  Mrs.  Cramp. 

"I  don't  know  about  its  being  Christianlike,"  said  Mr.  Cribbe, 
but  two  of  the  most  prominent  members  of  your  church  were  the 
directors  of  the  bank  who  were  anxious  to  have  the  debt  secured, 
even  against  the  pleadings  of  Walter  Ivers,  who  they  said  was  too 
young  to  advise  men  like  them  who  had  had  more  experience  in 
such  matters." 

"Well,  I  should  think  so,"  said  Mrs.  Tartar.  "The  idea  of  that 
upstart,  just  because  his  father  was  well  to  do,  daring  to  advise  such 
men  as  Mr.  Lantern  and  Deacon  Snow!" 

"I  don't  know  how  it  is,"  said  Mrs.  Cramp,  "but  you  allers  stick 
up  for  them  Ivers,  Mr.  Cribbe. 

"  And  I  would  for  you,  too,  Mrs.  Cramp,  if  I  thought  you  were  in 
the  right,  and  were  being  talked  about." 

"  That's  another  thing,"  said  Mrs.  Cramp. 


74  ENDURA  :    OR, 

Deacon  Garner  said  the  good  book  told  them  there  were  none 
perfect,  and  when  he  thought  of  his  own  shortcomings  he  felt  satisfied 
that  it  was  so. 

Mr.  Cribbe  said  he  must  go  as  it  was  getting  late.  He  had  been 
with  some  groceries  and  produce  to  a  poor  widow,  a  member  of  their 
church,  who  worked  out  amongst  the  people  for  a  mere  pittance,  and 
had  it  not  been  for  Mr.  Cribbe  and  a  few  more  like  him  she  must 
have  suffered. 

When  Mr.  Cribbe  had  gone  he  came  in  for  a  severe  overhauling. 
They  all  agreed  in  one  thing  just  because  Mrs.  Tartar  said  so.  And 
that  was  that  Mr.  Cribbe  had  become  worse  by  associating  with  the 
Haywoods.  The  fact  was  he  furnished  Mr.  Haywood  with  wood, 
farm  produce,  and  occasionally  met  him  when  he  collected  his  bills. 

Deacon  Garner  said  :  "the  wicked  may  flourish  for  a  season  but 
they  shall  be  cut  down  and  perish  forever."  For  his  part  he  did  not 
think  Haywood  and  stubble  could  stand  against  the  Almighty.  But 
still  we  were  commended  to  pray  for  such. 

Miss  Cutting  changed  the  subject  by  saying  that  she  heard  that 
Elder  Knocks  had  a  new  suit. 

Mrs.  Cramp  said  she  guessed  it  was  new  to  the  Elder,  but  that 
Brother  Champlain  had  worn  it  for  his  best  for  a  year  and  it  was  getting 
too  small  for  him,  and  just  fitted  Elder  Knocks,  so  he  sold  it  to  him 
for  two  weeks  work  on  his  new  barn. 

Miss  Cutting  said  it  would  go  with  the  gown  Mrs.  Cribbe  gave  Mrs. 
Knocks. 

"  And  the  bonnet  you  let  her  have  and  she  has  never  paid  for," 
said  Mrs.  Cramp  to  Mrs.  Tartar. 

"Somehow  some  people  are  always  being  helped  and  never  seem 
to  have  anything,"  said  Mrs.  Cramp.  "Now  them  youngsters  o'  hern 
hain't  got  a  decent  dress  to  go  to  meetin'  in,  and  only  last  spring  the 
society  met  at  her  house  ready  to  make  'em  up  something  fit  to  be 
seen  in.  They  knowed  Mr.  Muslin  give  'em  some  cloth  long  before  ; 
and  do  you  believe  it,  she  had  made  it  up  into  pantalets  and  petti 
coats,  every  yard  of  it !  Such  a  shiftless  way  for  people  to  get  along, 
and  he  has  so  much  gin'  him  at  that ! " 

The  backbiting  session  finally  closed,  and  each  of  the  women  con 
gratulated  herself  upon  what  she  had  learned  from  the  other,  always 


THREE    GENERATIONS.  75 

flattering  herself  that  she  had  been  very  circumspect,  when  in  reality 
the  very  thoughts  of  either  of  them  could  be  understood  almost  as 
much  by  what  they  did  not  say  as  by  what  they  did.  They  were  ever 
willing  to  listen  to  slander  and  only  too  eager  to  retail  it  to  their 
neighbors.  And  with  such  people  a  story  does  not  lose  by  repeating. 
They  protect  themselves  by  saying  they  heard  so  and  so,  when  half 
of  the  time  they  were  themselves  the  fabricators  and  originators. 

From  the  first  it  grew  until  the  father  of  the  falsehood  would  not 
have  recognized  his  child.  And  when  of  importance  enough  to  be 
traced  back  to  him,  it  would  assume  such  a  different  meaning  and 
signification  that  it  became  of  little  or  no  consequence.  It  was  only 
the  distortion  that  made  it  appear  important.  How  much  mischief 
has  been  done  by  such  tattlers  will  never  be  known.  Small  towns  and 
villages  suffer  most  by  them,  as  a  certain  class  seem  to  feed  upon  such 
garbage  and  thrive,  while  those  who  do  not  take  a  part  become  them 
selves  subjects  to  be  talked  about.  The  ignorant  gossippers  declare 
that  those  who  do  not  join  them  in  their  scandalous  gatherings  are 
stuck  up. 


7  6  /  ENDURA  :    OR, 


CHAPTER  XI. 

WITHOUT  OSTENTATION. 

I  have  too  deeply  read  mankind 
To  be  amus'd  with  friendship;  'tis  a  name 
Invented  merely  to  betray  credulity ; 
Tis  intercourse  of  interest — not  of  souls. 

IT  MAY  be  well  to  look  in  upon  the  Hay  wood  family,  as  a  pleasan 
contrast  with  the  scandal-mongers  of  the  last  chapter. 

When  Mr.  Sharp  had  left,  Mr.  Hay  wood  said:  "Well,  my  dear,  we 
have  had  a  very  pleasant  visit  from  my  old  friend,  and  it  was  such  an 
agreeable  surprise,  too." 

"  I  was  delighted  to  meet  him,  I  had  heard  so  much  of  him  and 
his  wonderful  exploits." 

"And  yet  he  seems  to  be  a  very  modest  man,"  said  Mr.  Hay- 
wood.  "You  would  never  suspect  him  of  being  a  great  detective, 
would  you  ?  " 

"  Quite  the  contrary;  he  appeared  quite  unsophisticated.  I  won 
der  if  he  is  just  the  same  when  he  is  with  rogues." 

"Perhaps  that  may  be  a  secret  of  his  great  success.  I  was  de 
lighted  to  have  you  take  us  to  Mr.  Ivers;  they  are  so  cordial  and  do 
so  much  for  their  friends. 

"  There  are  few  more  genial  gentlemen  than  Walter  Ivers,  and 
Mrs.  Ivers  is  a  perfect  lady — a  model  woman.  There  are  some  very 
nice  people  in  this  neighbood.  Some  who  may  not  be  accustomed 
to  the  usuages  of  polite  society,  but  I  find  them  good-hearted,  as  far 
as  I  know;  but  I  am  sorry  to  say  my  acquaintance  with  them  is 
rather  limited;  I  returned  every  call,  which  was  made  upon  me,  when 
we  first  came  here,  and  hoped  to  see  them  all,  again,  but  scarcely 
one  of  them  called  after.  That  Mr.  Cribbe  and  his  wife  seem  to  be 
generous  hearted  and  they  do  a  great  deal  of  good." 

"This  very  day  I  met  him,  with  a  load  of  produce  and  groceries 
which  he  was  distributing  among  the  poor.  He  appears  so  con 
scientious  about  his  weights  and  measures.  I  have  never  had  such 


THREE    GENERATIONS.  77 

honest  cords  of  wood,  as  he  brings  me.  He  seems  to  take  great 
pleasure  in  bringing  us  the  best  of  everything." 

"  Yes,  and  he  is  so  kind-hearted,  too.  One  day  last  Summer,  he 
insisted  upon  wading  into  the  water,  to  get  me  some  pond  lillies,  just 
because  I  happened  to  say  I  wished  I  could  have  them,  without  a 
thought  of  his  getting  them  for  me;  and  his  wife  is  just  like  him,  she 
will  make  me  take  some  little  thing,  every  time  I  go  there,  until  I  am 
fearful  she  may  begin  to  think  that  I  call  just  to  take  what  she 
offers." 

"  Did  you  ever  refuse,  my  dear?  " 

'•  Its  no  use  refusing;  I  find  a  package  ready  for  me  and  take  it, 
I  must  I  know,  I  would  cause  her  to  feel  badly  if  I  did  not  take  it, 
and  I  am  sure,  we  all  enjoy  the  little  delicacies.  Such  preserves  as 
she  puts  up!  And  those  sweet  pickles!  I  know  how  to  make  them 
now;  and  was  there  ever  anything  more  appetizing  than  those  grapes; 
great  green  and  purple  clusters,  just  as  they  came  from  the  vine,  and 
I  think  I  never  saw  such  fruit,  as  they  always  have. 

"  For  that  matter  all  fruit  seems  nice,  just  taken  from  the  tree. 
But  I  grant  you,  Mr.  Cribbe  has  some  very  rare  and  delicious  fruit. 
His  peaches  and  pears  were  luscious  and  some  of  the  apples  which 
he  raises  are  very  fine.  Those  black  gillyflowers  and  those  great  red 
sweetings.  There  could  not  be  anything  nicer,  and  that  reminds  me 
I  must  order  some  more  apples,  just  for  the  Winter.  I  should  like 
to  send  Mr.  Allen  a  bushel  of  apples,  of  all  the  varieties.  Yes,  and 
Mr.  Goodhue's  family  thinks  so  much  of  anything  sent  them  in  that 
way." 

"We  might  say  that  of  a  number  of  our  friends  in  the  city,  and  I 
think  I  will  send  down  two  barrels,  and  Mr  Hanford  can  distribute 
them  as  we  may  suggest,  or  I  can  when  I  go  to  town  next  time." 

"  I  suppose  Mr.  Sharp  is  well  on  his  way  by  this  time.  I  hope  he 
will  meet  with  no  mishap  going  back.  It  is  a  long  lonely  road,  and 
they  do  say  robberies  and  murders  have  taken  place  in  those  dark 
woods." 

"Do  you  know  what  they  call  that  road  through  that  swamp?  I 
will  tell  you.  For  years  it  has  been  called  *  Cowards'  Hole,'  and 
since  the  finding  of  the  remains  of  that  horse  and  his  accoutrements 


78  ENDURA:   OR 

it  will  make  more  cowards  than   ever,   and   they  will   all  dread  the 
long  woods  after  dark." 

"  It  does  not  take  long  to  fly  from  Mr.  Hay  woods  to  Mr.  Ivers; 
and  the  same  bird  that  told  us  what  the  Haywoods  said  of  their 
neighbors  will  whisper  something  of  what  it  heard  at  the  home  of  the 
Ivers." 

When  the  jolly  wagon  load  were  out  of  sight  Mrs.  Ivers  began  by 
saying  that  she  was  glad  they  came.  It  was  so  good  of  them  to  bring 
their  friend  along.  "I  hope  he  was  favorably  impressed  with  the 
country." 

"  I  could  tell  you  something,  my  dear,  and  perhaps  I  may  as  well 
now  they  are  gone.  That  strange  gentleman  is  the  great  detective. 
The  celebrated  Mr.  Sharp  we  have  heard  so  much  of.  Of  course  I 
could  not  ask  what  he  is  here  for.  But  I'll  warrant  he  is  on  the 
track  of  same  rascal." 

"Well!  I  never  should  have  thought  it.  I  am  glad  now  that  I  did  not 
know  who  he  was  or  I  might  have  felt  a  little  embarrassed." 
"Why  so,  my  dear;  did  he  not  seem  like  other  men?" 
"  Yes,  too  much  so  for  the  cunning  man  I  hear  he  is." 
"  What  would  you  have  expected  of  an  officer  of  that  kind  ?  " 
"  Well,  I  scarcely  know,  but  he  was  so  very  modest.     He  appeared 
just  like  one  of  our  neighbors,  and  the  children  took  him  out  to  see 
the   chickens.     He  was  particularly  pleased  with  the  little  bantams, 
and  he  told  Bernard  he  would  like  to  have   him  save   him    a   pretty 
pair  and  send  them  to  him  the  first  opportunity,  and   he   actually  in 
sisted  upon  his  accepting  a  dollar  in   payment.     Bernard  asked   me 
what  he  should  do.     I  told  him  it  would  be  time  enough  for  the  gen 
tleman  to  pay  for  them  when  he  got  them.     But  he  gave  each  of  the 
children  half  a  dollar,  and  told  Bernard  when  he  came  to   the  city 
that  he  must  be  sure  and  come  and  see  him  if  he  was  at  home." 

"  How  well  those  men  know  how  to  gain  the  good  will  of  every 
body,  and  once  a  friend  always  a  friend,  I  have  heard.  We  hear  of 
criminals  escaping  sometimes  through  the  carelessness  of  these  offic 
ials.  There  may  be  such  instances,  but  it  is  not  often  when  they 
have  taken  so  much  trouble  to  catch  a  rogue  that  they  carelessly  let 
him  go.  Sometimes  criminals  pay  large  amounts  of  money  to  officers 
to  let  them  go,  so  they  take  the  money  and  pretend  they  never  saw 


THREE    GENERATIONS.  79 

the  rogue,  or  if  it  was  known  that  he  had  been  captured  they  would 
say  he  escaped,  and  make  some  plausible  excuse  for  his  doing  so. 
The  other  cases  may  be  when  the  officer  arrests  some  one  who  had 
befriended  him  in  the  past,  but  who  had  been  unfortunate  and  done 
something  wrong  ;  or  some  poor  man  who  had  struggled  against 
temptation,  and  at  last  it  became  so  strong  that  in  an  ungarded  mo 
ment  he  forgot  himself  and  fell.  Such  a  man  might  have  escaped 
from  Mr.  Sharp.  At  all  events  he  would  not  have  made  the  same 
effort  to  arrest  such  an  one  as  he  would  notorious  thieves  and  mur 
derers." 

"Well,  I  wish  him  well,  and  may  he  always  do  right." 

A  few  miles  from  the  town  of  S ,  lived  a  poor  man  by  the  name 

of  Kent.  He  rented  a  small  farm,  and,  when  not  cultivating  it,  he 
worked  by  the  day  for  the  neighbors  who  had  need  of  his  services. 

General  Ivers  gave  him  considerable  employment,  and  tried  to  en 
courage  him  in  his  efforts  to  get  along. 

Mr.  Kent  was  a  Scotchman  by  birth,  and  had  always  been  used  to 
hard  work.  He  married  an  honest  American  girl,  willing  to  assist  to 
hold  the  plow,  or  drive.  They  had  been  married  quite  a  number  of 
years,  and  their  children  increased  more  rapidly  than  their  more  sub 
stantial  worldly  possessions. 

Their  eldest  child  was  a  daughter,  who,  from  the  time  she  was  six 
years  old,  began  to  be  of  use  to  her  mother  in  caring  for  the  younger 
children.  The  second  was  a  boy,  who  felt  himself  a  man  almost  as 
soon  as  he  was  out  of  short  clothes  just  because  his  parents  used  to 
call  him  their  little  man.  At  ten  years  old  his  father  said  he  could 
do  the  work  of  a  man,  and  the  little  fellow  tried  hard  to  make  his 
father's  words  good,  and  it  is  doubtful  if  any  man  could  have  been 
found  who  would  have  accomplished  more  in  a  day  than  Sandy 
Kent  at  ten  or  eleven  years  old.  His  chores  were  never  neglected, 
and  his  days  were  never  ended  until  he  had  studied  to  perfection  one 
or  more  lessons. 

The  third  child  was  a  boy,  and  his  father  gave  him  the  good  old 
Scotch  name  of  Donald.  Donald  Kent  was  a  lusty  baby  and 
grew  very  fast.  He  was  perfectly  healthy,  and  being  the  youngest, 
for  a  short  time,  was  of  course  called  the  baby,  and  the  older  ones 
were  expected  to  take  care  of  him.  He  was  not  taught  to  work, 


8o  ENDURA  I    OR, 

as  his  brother  Sandy  had  been,  because  it  had  not  been  necessary. 
In  fact,  it  was  easier  for  his  parents  to  insist  upon  Sandy's  doing  the 
work  which  his  brother  could  have  done,  than  it  was  for  them  to  teach 
the  younger  brother  how,  and  compel  him  to  do  it.  So  it  came  about 
that  Donald  Kent  was  called  lazy.  As  the  other  children  came  along, 
they  were  doubtless  lazy  as  well.  At  all  events  the  parents  had  little 
time  to  teach  them,  so  that  their  education  in  all  departments  was 
left  to  the  older  children.  So  have  thousands  of  great  men  been  ed 
ucated  who  have  since  made  their  mark  in  the  world.  From  such 
beginnings  have  sprang  our  great  statesmen  and  rulers,  and  it  has 
been  demonstrated  to  be  the  rule  rather  than  the  exception,  that 
great  men  are  seldom  born  of  wealthy  parents,  or  brought  up  in  the 
lap  of  luxury.  It  is  the  boy  that  helps  himself  who  appears  to  be 
most  capable  of  helping  others.  There  is  no  inconsiderable  expense 
attending  the  raising  and  educating  a  large  family.  And  Abner  Kent 
found  his  resources  severely  taxed,  and  he  was  often  at  his  wit's  end 
to  know  how  he  was  to  provide  for  his  rapidly  increasing  brood. 
Sandy  and  Margy  could  take  care  of  themselves,  and  did  much  to 
ward  taking  care  of  the  others.  But  they  required  clothes  to  wear 
and  food  to  eat,  and  they  had  not  the  wherewith  to  procure  it,  as  all 
their  time  was  spent  at  home,  for  which  they  did  not  expect  anything. 
To  be  sure,  Sandy  could  set  snares  and  catch  partridges  and  quail, 
and  rabbits,  for  which  he  received  money,  but  it  was  but  little. 
Margy  could  not  do  that,  and  all  the  money  she  could  call  her  own 
had  been  given  her  as  a  child,  which  she  put  away  in  her  little  box  to 
be  looked  at  wistfully  now  and  then  when  released  from  her  cares. 
Donald  did  not  have  any  and  did  not  need  any.  Somehow  he 
managed  to  get  into  bed,  and  as  it  was  no  trouble  to  go  to  sleep  he 
required  no  urging. 

When  Donald  Kent  was  ten  years  old  he  was  an  uncommonly  fine 
looking  lad.  He  was  as  large  as  most  boys  at  twelve,  with  great  blue 
eyes  and  rather  dark  brown  hair.  He  was  as  straight  as  an  arrow, 
and  as  strong  as  a  young  steer.  His  parents  were  very  proud  of  him, 
but  there  did  not  seem  to  be  any  place  for  him  to  fit  into.  There 
appeared  to  be  too  many  pegs  for  the  holes,  or  else  not  holes  enough 
for  the  pegs,  especially  during  the  long,  cold  Winter. 

About  this  time,  when  Donald  was  just  past    his   thirteenth    year, 


THREE    GENERATIONS.  8 1 

General  Ivers  met  Mr.  Kent  and  made  a  proposition  to  him.  It  was 
in  the  Fall  of  the  year,  and  the  district  schools  were  just  about  be 
ginning.  General  Ivers  proposed  to  Mr.  Kent  that  Donald  should 
come  and  stay  at  his  house  and  go  to  school.  He  said  he  could  do 
chores  enough  to  pay  for  his  board  and  clothing,  and  in  the  Spring 
he  would  make  him  a  present  just  to  enconrage  him.  He  wished 
him  to  take  care  of  Endura,  to  take  her  to  school  and  back,  and 
before  and  after  school  he  was  to  work  around  at  whatever  there 
might  be  to  do. 

Bernard  Ivers  had  always  taken  good  care  of  his  little  sister,  but 
he  had  so  far  advanced  in  his  studies  that  it  was  thought  advisable  to 
send  him  to  a  neighboring  academy  for  a  few  terms,  preparatory  to 
his  entering  college,  so  that  it  was  really  a  very  great  accommodation 
to  General  Ivers  to  have  Donald  stay  with  him,  and  in  a  measure 
take  Bernard's  place. 

Donald  Kent  was  a  bashful  boy,  and  when  his  father  told  him  of 
the  arrangement  he  seemed  to  like  it  all  well  enough,  but  just  the 
care  of  little  Endura.  He  did  not,  in  the  lest,  mind  the  work  which 
he  would  be  obliged  to  do.  He  did  not  mind  the  bitter  cold  and 
snow,  and  the  fearful  storms,  which  he  was  sure  to  have  to  en 
counter;  but  the  care  of  the  little  girl  rather  worried  him.  To  be 
sure  he  had  a  little  sister  younger  than  himself,  and  a  little  brother,, 
but  he  had  never  had  any  care  of  them,  and  this  going  away  from 
home  to  chaperon  a  little  miss  was  something  which  he  did  not 
quite  like.  Had  it  been  a  boy  he  would  have  felt  somewhat  differ 
ent,  but  a  girl,  he  thought  the  other  boys  might  laugh  at  him;  still  it 
had  been  settled  so  there  was  no  alternative  but  for  him  to  go. 
General  Ivers  usually  kept  a  man  through  the  winter,  whose  duties 
left  him  little  time  to  look  after  children,  so  that  Donald  was  expected 
to  attend  to  the  light  work,  and  take  Dura,  as  he  called  her,  to  school 
and  home. 

Some  of  the  boys  were  inclined  to  make  a  butt  of  Donald,and  now 
and  then  they  would  sneeringly  allude  to  his  wife.  At  first  Donald 
did  not  know  what  to  do,  there  were  strict  rules  against  fighting 
among  the  scholars,  and  Donald  was  too  much  of  a  man  to  tell  the 
teacher  what  the  boys  said  and  did  to  him.  He  had  not  had  the  ad- 


82  ENDURA  :     OR, 

vantage  which  most  of  the  other  scholars  had,  and,  as  a  consequence, 
he  was  backward  in  his  studies,  so  much  so  that  much  smaller  chil 
dren  were  in  the  same  class  with  himself,  and  with  these  he  could  not 
seem  to  keep  up.  Even  little  Dura  could  tell  him  a  great  deal,  which 
he  did  not  mind  as  he  grew  to  love  her  like  one  of  his  little  sisters, 
but  he  could  not  be  blamed  and  scolded  by  the  teacher,  or  laughed 
at  by  the  more  favored  boys  and  girls  who  made  up  the  school.  He 
had  scarcely  been  in  school  one  month  when  he  was  advanced  to  a 
class  higher,  and  he  arose  rapidly  before  the  close  of  the  term,  until 
he  far  out-stripped  those  who  were  far  in  advance  of  him  when  the 
school  began.  His  teacher  and  friends  began  to  be  very  proud  of 
him,  but  a  few  jealous,  envious  boys  could  not  let  an  opportunity  slip 
without  trying  to  tease  and  jeer  him.  There  was  one  by  the  name  of 
Jack  Young,  a  great  bully,  who  had  been  especially  offensive  and  im 
pudent  all  along. 

Donald  had  intimated  that  he  should  pay  the  penalty  of  his  impu 
dence  several  times,  which  only  made  Jack  laugh,  and  the  little  boys 
that  were  afraid  of  Jack  sided  with  him.  One  day  Donald  had 
brought  Dura  to  school  upon  his  little  sled,  which  he  put  in  the  wood 
shed  to  take  her  home  on,  when  the  school  should  be  out.  At  after 
noon  recess  the  boys  pulled  his  sled  out,  and  broke  one  of  the  runners. 
Three  or  four  of  the  boys  were  implicated  in  the  affair,  and  were  very 
much  frightened  for  fear  of  being  punished  by  the  teacher,  so  they 
said  nothing.  When  Donald  found  his  little  sled  ruined  he  very 
naturally  accused  Jack  Young  of  having  a  hand  in  it.  Jack  had  no 
notion  of  denying  it.  He  wished  to  see  what  Donald  would  do.  He 
thought,  if  Donald  told  the  teacher,  he  would  tell  that  Jim  Eddy, 
Sam  Dowley,  Dave  Jones  and  Pete  Shinn  got  it  out  to  coast  a  little, 
and  it  broke  down  with  them. 

But  Donald  had  no  notion  of  complaining  to  the  teacher.  He 
went  to  Jack  Young  and  accused  him  of  breaking  his  sled.  Jack 
said: 

"  Well,  if  I  did,  what  will  you  do  about  it?  " 

"I'll  lick  you,"  said  Donald,  "and  I'll  do  it  now,"  walking  up  to 
Jack  in  a  threatening  attitude. 

Jack  drew  off  and  struck  him  upon  the  side  of  the  head,  which 
staggered  Donald,  but  only  for  a  moment.  He  recovered  himself 


THREE    GENERATIONS.  83 

and  went  for  Jack  like  a  young  tiger,  only  to  be  hit  a  second  time  as 
well  as  kicked  in  a  foul  manner  by  the  bully.  Donald  was  thor 
oughly  aroused.  He  took  off  his  jacket  and  threw  it  down,  and 
grappled  his  adversary  and  threw  him ;  and  then  he  got  astride  of 
him  and  pummelled  him  to  his  heart's  content,  until  the  coward 
begged  and  bellowed  like  a  calf  and  others  came  to  his  rescue.  When 
he  got  up  his  clothes  were  soiled  and  torn  and  his  nose  bleeding  pro 
fusely.  The  teacher,  knowing  what  had  happened,  requested  Jack 
and  Donald  to  stop  in  the  hall  while  the  rest  of  the  scholars  went  into 
the  schoolroom.  He  then  asked  them  why  they  had  broken  the  rule, 
and  Jack  told  his  side  of  the  story,  saying  that  Donald  had  accused 
him  of  breaking  his  sled  and  called  him  a  liar,  and  then  threw  him 
down  and  tore  his  clothes.  Donald  related  the  facts  as  they 
were,  and  said  quite  a  number  of  the  scholars  were  by  and  saw  it  all. 
The  teacher  was  much  puzzled,  for  the  two  stories  did  not  tally.  So 
he  called  out  two  or  three  of  the  boys  and  questioned  them  upon  the 
matter.  They  also  appeared  a  little  uncertain  how  it  came  about. 
Finally  the  teacher  told  them  that  he  should  be  obliged  to  punish 
them  both,  unless  he  could  get  at  the  facts  so  that  it  should  appear 
somewhat  clear  who  struck  first.  At  this  juncture  a  rapping  was 
heard  upon  the  door,  upon  opening  which  a  little  fellow  said  he  saw 
it  all.  He  said  Jack  struck  Donald  and  kicked  him  before  Donald 
hit  him  at  all.  And  then  Donald  threw  him  down  and  licked  him. 
This  so  far  corroborated  Donald  that  the  teacher  decided  what  to  do. 
Jack  was  expelled  from  the  school,  and  Donald  was  severely  talked 
to  in  the  presence  of  the  whole  school.  After  school  was  out  the 
scholars  very  naturally  took  sides,  some  with  Jack  and  some  with 
Donald.  The  latter  could  not  hide  his  resentment  of  what  the 
teacher  had  said  to  him,  and  when  he  went  home  he  told  General 
Ivers  all  that  had  happened,  and  at  the  same  time  he  told  him  he  did 
not  wish  to  return  to  school,  but  that  he  would  go  home.  The  Gen 
eral  told  him  he  would  see  the  teacher  the  next  day  himself,  and  see 
that  he  had  justice  done  him.  Donald  was  obdurate  and  said  he  had 
been  abused  all  winter  by  some  of  the  boys  of  the  school,  and  if  he 
was  still  to  bear  it  he  would  not  return. 

Supper  was  over  and   they  had  left  the  table,  when  a    knock  was 
heard  at  the  door.     The  General  opened  the  door  himself  and  there 


84  ENDURA  :     OR, 

stood  Mr.  Wright,  the  teacher.  He  said  he  could  not  sleep  before  he 
saw  the  General  and  apologized  to  Donald. 

After  school  was  out,  two  of  his  best  and  most  reliable  scholars, 
told  him  a  greal  deal  which  he  did  not  know  before;  how  Donald 
had  been  the  butt  of  the  rough  boys,  all  Winter;  how  they  had 
taunted  him  and  annoyed  him,  while  Donald  had  said  nothing,  but 
kept  on  with  his  studies,  until  he  was  one  of  the  best  scholars  in  the 
school.  He  said  that  Donald  was  entirely  justified  in  thrashing  the 
impudent  bully,  that  tomorrow  he  proposed  to  make  just  as  public  an 
apology  as  he  had  a  reprimand.  This  pleased  the  General  very 
much. 

"But,"  he  said,  "  I  am  sorry  to  tell  you,  Mr.  Wright,  that  Donald 
says  he  will  not  return  to  the  school  any  more,  to  be  laughed  at,  and 
abused,  as  he  had  been.  I  told  him  I  would  see  you  tomorrow,  but 
it  does  not  signify.  He  says  he  will  go  home  tomorrow.  I  am  very 
sorry  as  he  is  an  excellent  boy,  faithful  and  honest,  and  I  do  not  well 
see  how  we  are  to  get  along  without  him.  Endura  is  greatly  attached 
to  him,  and  does  not  wish  to  go  to  school  unless  he  takes  her.  I  will 
do  the  best  I  can  to  induce  him  to  change  his  mind,  but  I  fear  with 
out  avail,  as  he  has  a  strong  Scotch  will,  which  he  inherits  from 
his  father." 

Mr.  Wright  said  he  would  like  to  see  Donald,  so  he  was  called  in. 
When  his  teacher  told  him  how  sorry  he  was  for  what  had  happened, 
and  especially  so  for  the  unjust  reprimand,  which  he  had  given  him, 
before  the  school,  but  that  he  had  found  out  his  mistake  and  he 
wished  to  apologise  not  only  to  him  alone,  but  to  him  before  all  the 
school.  Donald  seemed  to  feel  badly,  and  rather  pitied  the  teacher, 
but  to  one  well  acquainted  with  him  it  was  evident  he  did  not  intend 
to  return  to  school. 

The  teacher  took  his  departure  saying,  that  he  hoped  Donald 
would  be  on  hand  the  next  day. 

The  next  day,  Donald  was  up  early,  did  his  chores,  got  in  his 
wood,  fed  the  cattle,  and  then  came  to  tell  the  General  he  was  going 
home.  General  Ivers  tried  to  persuade  him  not  to  go,  but  to  return 
to  school;  but  it  was  no  use.  Finally  he  said  to  him, — 

"  Donald,  I  admire  your  sense  of  honor,  but  I  dislike  very  much 
your  stubborness.  What  more  can  your  teacher  do,  than  he  has 


THREE    GENERATIONS.  85 

done,  to  come  here  and  apologize  to  you  and  to  me  and  offer  to 
apologize  to  you  before  the  whole  school  ?  " 

Donald  said  he  liked  the  teacher,  but  he  did  not  think  he  wanted 
to  admit  to  the  whole  school  that  he  was  right,  while  he — the  teacher 
— acknowledged  that  he  was  wrong.  It  struck  the  General  that  it 
was  the  noble  nature  of  the  boy,  that  wished  to  spare  the  teacher  the 
mortification  of  acknowledging  that  he  was  wrong. 

General  Ivers  said  no  more  upon  that  subject,  but  he  told  Donald 
that  he  might  continue  to  live  with  him,  if  he  chose,  and  keep  on 
with  his  studies;  he  would,  himself,  assist  him  with  his  arithmetic, 
and  he  could  make  very  good  headway,  he  thought.  He  noticed 
that  it  seemed  to  please  Donald,  and  he  said  he  would  not  go  home 
but  he  did  not  wish  to  return  to  school. 

So  it  was  settled  that  he  remain  the  rest  of  the  Winter.  He 
assisted  little  Dura  in  her  studies,  and  with  his  close  application, 
he  made  rapid  progress  in  his  studies,  doing  better  even  than  it 
would  have  been  possible  for  him  to  have  done  in  the  school-house. 

Spring  came  and  Donald  Kent  returned  to  his  father's  house,  to 
work  on  the  farm.  A  season  of  hard  work  was  before  him,  but  he 
did  not  give  up  his  studies;  upon  every  occasion  he  would  work  out 
some  problem  in  arithmetic,  or  some  geometrical  puzzle.  Then  he 
was  fond  of  history  and  geography,  all  of  which  claimed  his  leisure 
hours.  He  loved  his  home,  the  fields  where  he  rambled,  the  bud 
ding  woods,  the  brooks  and  quiet  nooks.  He  knew  where  the 
thrush  built  his  lowly  nest,  and  the  oriole  suspended  his  cradle.  The 
robin  and  the  bluebird  sang  to  him  at  break  of  day,  and  the  lark 
caught  up  the  melody  and  skimmed  away  to  his  mate,  ere  the  sun 
was  high.  At  noon  the  bobolink  rose  up  in  full  dress  and  soared 
away  to  Heaven  with  his  liquid  notes,  while  his  modest  little  mate 
sat  upon  her  eggs,  patiently  awaiting  the  life  her  warmth  should  bring 
forth. 

There  was  nothing  in  nature  that  Donald  did  not  love.  Even  the 
long  days  of  toil  had  their  charm  for  him,  and  when  the  Sabbath 
came  it  was,  indeed,  a  day  of  rest  to  him. 

It  was  remarked  by  the  neighbors  that  Donald  Kent  had  much  im 
proved  since  he  had  lived  in  General  Ivers'  family.  They  said  he 
was  very  odd,  and  some  said  he  was  not  exactly  right  in  his  head. 


86  ENDURA  I     OR, 

Still  he  kept  on.  The  little  education  which  he  had  received  whetted 
his  appetite  for  more.  Besides,  he  seemed  to  feel  that  if  he  could 
outstrip  some  of  those  who  had  made  sport  of  him  for  his  ignorance, 
it  would  be  triumph  enough. 

So  the  summer  passed  on.  He  visited  his  friends — the  General's 
family — once  or  twice,  and  was  cordially  received  by  them  all.  Mrs. 
Ivers  was  more  than  kind,  and  little  Dura  tried  hard  to  monopolize 
him  altogether.  Sallie  Vic,  who  was  now  quite  feeble,  seemed  to 
light  up  at  the  mention  of  his  name  and  the  sound  of  his  voice. 
Even  the  old  dog  Carlo  acted  as  though  Donald  was  his  special 
charge  and  kept  constantly  with  him. 

When  the  time  came  for  him  to  leave  for  his  home,  he  lingered  and 
listened  to  a  few  more  regrets ;  and  when  at  length  he  separated  from 
his  kind  friends,  the  world  seemed  very  hollow. 

Seasons  soon  fall  around,  and  as  we  turn  to  the  past,  we  say  how 
short !  but  as  we  turn  our  eyes  to  the  future  we  cease  to  measure 
time,  as  we  have  no  lease  of  what  is  before  us. 

Another  winter  came,  and  it  was  not  difficult  for  General  Ivers  to 
induce  Donald  to  assume  his  old  duties.  There  was  another  teacher 
in  the  district.  He  was  quite  a  young  man,  and  at  first  it  was  thought 
to  be  a  little  questionable  if  his  education  and  abilities  were  equal  to 
the  position.  But  upon  the  assurance  of  the  Examining  Committee, 
who  were  educated  men,  he  was  allowed  to  try. 

There  was  a  large  school.  Quite  a  number  of  young  men  and 
young  ladies  attended,  and  the  teacher  had  an  unusual  amount  of 
work  to  perform.  The  scholars  were  studious  and  well-behaved,  with 
a  few  exceptions,  and  they,  from  very  shame,  tried  to  do  as  well  as 
they  could. 

Jack  Young  attended,  of  course.  But  though  he  did  not  much 
like  Donald,  yet  there  was  no  open  rupture  between  them. 

The  young  teacher  seemed  to  take  a  particular  fancy  to  Donald 
Kent,  which  feeling  appeared  to  be  reciprocated.  In  fact,  Donald 
was  one  of  the  best,  if  not  the  very  best  scholar  in  the  school. 

The  spelling  schools  were  a  feature  of  the  winter,  in  which  Donald 
took  a  part.  He  was  an  excellent  speller,  and  when  the  scholars 
stood  up  to  see  who  would  stand  the  longest  before  missing  a  word, 
Donald  Kent  was  usually  the  last  one  to  take  his  seat ;  and  when 


THREE    GENERATIONS.  87 

strangers  came  in  from  other  districts,  the  champions  were  pitted 
against  Donald,  and  about  as  often  they  were  vanquished  by  him. 

Difficult  problems  would  often  tax  the  abilities  of  the  teacher  to 
the  utmost  until  Donald  modestly  volunteered  to  assist  him,  which 
assistance  the  teacher  promptly  accepted,  and  for  which  he  was  very 
grateful. 

The  rapid  strides  which  Donald  had  made  in  his  studies  surprised 
everybody,  and  he  soon  became  quite  a  lion  in  the  neighborhood. 

But  school  times  soon  close  and  the  scholars  are  scattered. 

In  the  springtime  Donald  returned  to  the  plow. 

But  he  did  not  lose  sight  of  little  Dura,  or  of  his  studies,  in  which 
he  was  deeply  interested. 

Sally  Vic  grew  more  and  more  feeble,  and  the  spring  found  her 
fast  fading  away.  Day  after  day  her  eyes  grew  brighter  and  her 
cheek  thinner  and  paler,  and  yet  she  talked  of  the  summer  when  she 
would  feel  better.  The  summer  days  came,  and  with  them  sweet 
flowers  and  early  fruits.  One  Sunday  Donald  wandered  about  the 
fields  and  meadows.  He  gathered  the  last  violets  with  the  first 
daisies,  and  wild  strawberries  and  pennyroyal,  with  azalias  and  wild 
roses,  and  took  them  to  the  poor  sick  girl.  She  thanked  him  with  a 
smile  that  told  of  the  angel's  whisper.  She  ate  some  of  the  straw 
berries,  and  the  flowers  were  put  in  a  vase  before  her,  with  the  excep 
tion  of  a  few  violets  which  she  took  in  her  hand. 

A  heavenly  calm  spread  over  her  face  as  her  eyes  rested  upon  the 
sweet  flowers. 

Pressing  them  softty  in  her  thin  hand,  she  took  them  with  her  to 
Heaven.  Her  gentle  soul  went  up  with  the  violets'  perfume,  but  the 
smile  still  remained  upon  her  lips. 

The  flowers  were  emblematic  of  herself,  and  the  violets  were  placed 
in  her  hand,  in  the  coffin,  while  wreaths  and  garlands  of  wild  flowers 
completely  enveloped  the  casket  that  held  the  sacred  clay. 


ENDURA  :     OR, 


CHAPTER  XII. 

A  SOLEMN  OCCASION. 

Thus  o'er  the  dying  lamp  th'  unsteady  flame 
Hangs  quivering  on  the  point,  leaps  off  by  fits 
And  falls  again,  as  loth  to  quit  its  hold. 

— Addison's  Cato. 

A  FUNERAL   in  the  country  is  quite  different   from    one   in  a 
city  where  they  seem  to  be  burying  some  one  all  the  time. 

The  bell  in  the  cemetery  tower  of  a  great  city  is  almost  constantly 
tolling,  and  no  one  appears  to  notice  it,  unless,  indeed,  it  be  those 
who  follow  the  remains  of  some  dear  friend  to  the  silent  city,  when 
the  clang  of  the  brazen  tongue  strikes  harshly  upon  the  sensitive  ear. 

In  the  country  no  sound  is  heard.  The  very  tread  of  the  horses 
seems  muffled. 

Men  talk  in  whispers  or  in  subdued  tones.  The  merits  of  the  de 
parted  are  oftenest  the  subject  of  conversations.  And  then  the  manner 
of  his  taking  off,  and  the  loss  to  the  community,  or  the  great  void 
which  the  departed  will  make  in  the  family  circle.  When  the  grave 
is  reached  the  friends  gather  around  to  see  the  body  lowered  into  its 
narrow  tenement,  and  then  the  earth  is  shoveled  in.  When  the  first 
clods  fall  upon  the  coffin's  lid,  the  hollow  sound  creates  a  sensation 
as  though  they  fell  too  hard ;  but  as  spadeful  after  spadeful  is  thrown 
in  the  wounded  earth  heals  up,  and  wrapping  its  mantle  around  the 
coffined  clay,  a  little  mound  remains  sodded  and  green,  with  one  rude 
stone  at  the  head  and  another  at  the  foot  and  all  is  finished. 

Every  funeral  in  the  country  is  made  an  occasion  for  a  kind  of 
feast.  Not  that  the  bereaved  have  much  appetite,  but  it  has  been  a 
custom  from  time  immemorial,  and  the  friends  have  a  care  that 
nothing  shall  be  neglected  or  wanting  that  can  cause  remarks. 

The  friends  are  invited  to  remain  and  the  good  people  are  solicit 
ous  that  all  shall  be  well  served  who  have  done  honor  to  the  departed, 
by  being  present  upon  the  mournful  occasion. 

Of  course  all  the  neighbors  and  townspeople  attended  the  funeral 


THREE    GENERATIONS.  89 

of  Sally  Vic.  Those  who  scarcely  knew  her  and  those  who  did  not 
know  the  family  of  General  Ivers  at  all. 

Those  who  had  not  darkened  the  doors  of  the  Ivers'  mansion  for 
years  found  that  an  occasion  for  a  general  gathering.  The  house  was 
filled  to  overflowing,  and  a  great  many  were  unable  to  get  within  hear 
ing  distance.  A  young  friend  of  Bernard  Ivers  was  expected  to 
officiate,  much  to  the  disappointment  of  some  of  the  neighbors. 

The  young  man  was  a  professor  in  the  instititution  in  which  Ber 
nard  was  a  student.  He  had  but  recently  graduated  from  "  Old 
Harvard,"  and  according  to  common  report  he  was  talented  and 
exemplary.  His  name  was  Walter  Bishop,  and  having  had  the  degree 
of  Doctor  of  Divinity  conferred  upon  him  he  was  called  Doctor 
Bishop,  which  at  the  time  we  write  sounded  somewhat  strange ;  and 
to  some  of  the  more  ignorant  it  was  not  quite  clear  what  a  doctor  had 
to  do  with  preaching.  But  this  only  made  them  the  more  anxious  to 
hear  what  he  would  have  to  say. 

The  Reverend  gentleman  was  dressed  according  to  the  adopted 
fashion  of  the  Episcopal  church,  which  was  something  remarkable  for 
the  place,  and  when  he  arose  and  read  the  funeral  service  quite  a 
sensation  was  created.  Some  of  the  more  ignorant  and  superstitious 
began  to  fear  that  he  was  of  the  same  stripe  of  Mr.  Haywood,  who 
was  there  present  with  his  family. 

After  going  through  the  usual  ceremonies,  the  minister  read  a  pas 
sage  of  scripture,  and  took  for  his  text  the  24th  verse  of  the  i2th 
chapter  of  the  gospel  according  to  St.  John  : 

"  Verily,  verily,  I  say  unto  you,  except  a  corn  of  wheat  fall  into  the 
ground  and  die,  it  abideth  alone  ;  but  if  it  die  it  bringeth  forth  much 
fruit." 

He  said  the  Master  often  likened  the  good  to  wheat  and  the  wicked 
to  the  chaff  which  was  blown  away  or  burned  up  and  destroyed.  An 
other  favorite  metaphor  was  salt,  "Ye  are  the  salt  of  the  earth,"  etc. 

Taking  a  grain  of  corn  or  a  kernel  of  wheat  as  an  illustration,  he 
said  it  was  easy  to  prove  the  necessity  of  death.  For,  said  he, 
unless  the  grain  die  the  new  life  can  not  come  forth.  "  He  that 
loveth  his  life  shall  loose  it;  and  he  that  hateth  his  life  in  this  world 
shall  keep  it  unto  life  eternal."  Life  at  best,  said  he,  is  but  a  proba 
tionary  season — a  trial  fitting  us  for  another  life,  which  shall  be 


90  ENDURA  :    OR, 

eternal.  If  we  sow  good  seed  here  it  shall  bring  forth  fruit  in  the 
life  to  come.  Even  here  the  effect  of  good  example  is  felt,  so  that 
in  the  case  of  human  life  the  seed  need  not  die  before  good  fruit 
comes  of  it.  And  here  is  where  the  application  of  the  metaphor  of 
salt  may  be  used.  "Ye  are  the  salt  of  the  earth,"  etc.,  meaning  that 
they  possessed  the  saving  qualities. 

Again,  he  likened  his  disciples  to  yeast,  showing  how  a  little  good 
would  be  felt  all  through.  There  was  no  limit  to  its  influence.  We 
feel  it,  while  they  live,  and  we  are  all  the  better  for  their  example 
when  they  have  left  us.  Who,  that  has  a  proper  appreciation  of 
right  and  wrong,  that  does  not  profit  by  good  example?  Even 
those  who  are  not  well  inclined  must  be  more  or  less  influenced  for 
the  better  by  good  moral  surroundings. 

The  life  of  this  young  woman,  said  he,  is  a  fitting  prototype  for 
the  young  to  follow;  and  the  aged  might  find  something  in  her  pure 
life  worth  emulating.  Modest  and  self-sacrificing,  patient  and  for 
bearing,  firm  and  faithful,  honest  and  truthful,  kind  and  affectionate, 
she  combined  almost  all  the  Christian  virtues,  with  few  of  the  frailties 
common  to  our  natures.  There  rested  upon  her  face  a  heavenly 
smile  as  she  looked  back  from  the  dark  portal  through  which  she  was 
about  to  enter.  As  if  she  heard  the  joyful  welcome  and  "well  done" 
echoed  from  the  other  shore,  she  laid  her  burden  down,  and  her 
gentle  soul  was  wafted  away. 

This  is  but  the  casket  that  held  the  priceless  gem.  This  is  the 
mortal  which  has  put  on  immortality.  That  heavenly  smile  will  fade 
away  in  the  damp,  cold  grave.  In  a  day,  or  week,  or  month,  this 
body  will  change,  and  those  accustomed  to  see  it  day  after  day  would 
not  recognize  it.  But  even  when  hidden  in  its  dark  chamber,  that 
smile  will  remain  with  us.  And  should  we  live  to  be  aged,  that 
"sweet  smile  will  haunt  us  still."  So  shall  she  live,  young  and  beau 
tiful  as  now,  when  we  are  old.  For  the  dead  never  grow  old.  It  is 
but  the  living  who  grow  wrinkled  and  gray,  when  weighed  down  by 
years  and  sorrow.  At  the  last  day,  if  we  do  right,  keeping  the 
heavenly  goal  in  view,  we  may  all  hope  to  meet  once  more  our  de 
parted  friend.  Let  us  look  for  aid  to  the  Divine  source  that  we  may 
so  live. 


THREE    GENERATIONS.  9! 

The  Reverend  gentleman  then  read  a  beautiful  prayer,  closing  with 
a  benediction. 

When  the  young  men  stepped  forward,  who  had  been  selected  as 
bearers,  it  was  noticed  that  they  were  all  her  personal  friends,  those 
of  whom  she  thought  most.  Side  by  side  walked  Bernard  Ivers  and 
Donald  Kent.  The  latter  seemed  to  command  the  sympathy  of  all. 
A  mere  boy,  he  had  the  dignity  and  demeanor  of  a  man.  He  was 
a  perfect  specimen  of  a  hardy  New  England  lad,  with  a  faultless 
physique  and  a  ruddy  countenance.  He  looked  more  like  a  young 
man  of  twenty  than  a  boy  of  scarcely  sixteen.  He  excited  the  sym 
pathy,  as  well  as  the  admiration,  of  every  one  present.  Among  all 
the  mourners  there  was  not  one  more  bowed  down  than  the  noble 
youth  who  saw  her  smile  and  die  with  the  violets  which  he  gave  her, 
clasped  in  her  hand.  And  those  same  violets  lay  there  upon  her 
breast  above  the  heart  now  cold  and  still  forever.  At  times  it  was 
with  an  effort  that  Donald  could  suppress  his  feelings.  Tears  would 
fill  his  eyes,  and  a  choking  sensation  in  his  throat  told  it  all.  There 
was  no  need  of  words  to  speak  his  heart's  sorrow. 

Bernard,  too,  appeared  affected  almost  as  much  at  the  sorrow  of 
his  young  friend  as  at  the  realization  that  Death  had  entered  his 
home  and  taken  from  thence  a  gentle  being  who  had  been  his  friend 
and  adviser. 

All  those  who  were  present  were  too  deeply  effected,  or  had  too 
much  discretion  to  say  anything  derogatory  to  the  officiating  clergy 
man.  But  Mrs.  Cramp  and  Miss  Cutting  walked  home  with  Mrs. 
Tartar  across  the  field,  while  Farmer  Brown's  daughters,  Patty  and 
Betsy,  drove  around  that  way,  and  at  the  earnest  solicitation  of  the 
two  they  hitched  their  horse  and  went  in.  Mrs.  Tartar  had  scarcely 
laid  her  bonnet  off  when  she  let  loose  the  vials  of  her  wrath. 

"  What  are  we  coming  to,  I  should  like  to  know  ?  Another  infidel 
has  dared  to  come  into  our  midst  and  pretend  to  preach  to  us.  Dew 
you  call  that  preachin'  ?  I  should  say  it  was  readin'  a  lesson  from  a 
book,  and  a  preachin'  from  a  book,  too,  for  that  matter.  Sich  pray 
ers  never  get  above  the  head  of  him  that  makes  'em." 

Betsy  Brown  said  he  appeared  to  be  a  very  smart  young  man  and 
she  thought  he  talked  real  good. 


92  ENDURA:  OR, 

"  He  talked  well  enough,"  said  Mrs.  Tartar,  "  but  he  had  no  feel 
ing  in  what  he  said." 

"  I  wish  Elder  Knocks  could  have  said  a  few  words  ;  he  would 
have  touched  many  a  heart.  But  no  ;  he  was  not  good  enough.  They 
must  get  that  young  upstart  from  the  city.  College-bred  they  call 
him.  College-bred,  indeed  !  I  should  like  to  know  how  much  bet 
ter  a  man  can  preach  after  going  to  College.  For  my  part  I'd  ruther 
hear  old  Deacon  Simper  read  than  any  of  your  great  preachers,  and 
he  never  went  to  school  but  one  day  in  his  life.  It  is  jest  tew  soothin' 
for  anything  to  hear  him  read  the  Bible.  I  can  go  to  sleep  any  time 
alistenin'  to  him." 

Miss  Brown  said  it  must  be  good  reading  to  make  one  so  sleepy. 
But  for  her  part  she  liked  reading  or  preaching  that  would  keep  her 
awake. 

Miss  Cutting  said  Elder  Knocks  read  well  enough  for  her.  She 
had  known  him  to  make  some  of  his  audience  cry  by  reading  a  sim 
ple  hymn.  And  she  believed  if  the  young  man  who  had  pretended 
to  preach  that  day  should  read  the  same  hymn  it  would  have  quite 
another  meaning. 

"That  may  be,  but  are  you  sure  Mr.  Knocks  gave  it  any  mean 
ing  at  all?"  said  Miss  Brown. 

"Now,  Betsy  Brown,  you  ought  to  be  ashamed  of  yourself.  You, 
who  have  sot  under  the  preachin'  of  that  good  man  for  mor'n  ten 
years.  To  me  it  has  been  like  down  droppin'  of  manna  in  the  wil 
derness.  Sich  a  tone !  So  solum  an'  orful,  even  the  commonest 
hymn  sounded  good.  Jest  as  good  as,  <  Hark,  from  the  tomb  a  dole 
ful  sound.'  Do  you  think  your  nice  young  man  could  do  that  ?" 

"Well,  he  might  not  be  able  to  make  < Yankee  Doodle'  sound 
quite  as  solemn  as  'When  darkness  long  has  veiled  my  mind,'  but 
perhaps  he  would  convey  the  meaning  of  the  author  quite  as  well  as 
would  Deacon  Knocks  with  all  his  solemnity." 

"It  may  be  you  think  a  readin'  from  that  book  was  prayin', "  said 
Mrs.  Cramp.  "  For  my  part  it  was  only  readin',  an'  poor  readin'  at 
that." 

"Perhaps  you  think  his  good  clothes  made  him  all  the  better,' 
said  Mrs.  Tarter.  "  I  dare  say  he  owes  for  them  if  the  truth  was 
known." 


THREE    GENERATIONS.  93 

"And  his  shirt-bosom  that  looked  so  white  and  stiff  I  suppose  his 
poor  old  mother  worked  to  do  it  up  so  that  he  could  appear  smart  to 
day." 

"  Really,  I  did  not  notice  his  shirt-bosom  at  all.  I  thought  his 
coat  was  buttoned  over  it,"  said  Miss  Brown.  "  But  if  you  say  it 
was  clean  I  am  glad." 

"  You  might  have  seen  his  shirt,"  said  Mrs.  Cramp.  "There  was 
one  button  off  in  front  of  his  coat,  and  you  could  have  seen  it  plain 
as  anything." 

"  There  was  that  wicked  man  Hay  wood  there  too.  I  should 
think  he  would  know  he  was  not  wanted  in  this  neighborhood,  and 
what  Walter  Ivers  invites  him  to  his  house  for,  I  do  not  understand. 
He  seems  to  think  as  much  of  him,  and  treats  him  just  as  well  as  if 
he  was  a  good  Christian  man,"  said  Mrs.  Tartar. 

"  Poor  Sally  has  gone  to  heaven  and  it  can  do  her  no  harm.  But 
when  she  looked  down  and  saw  the  mummery  they  had  over  her  to 
day  she  must  have  felt  bad,"  said  Miss  Cutting. 

"Do  you  suppose  that  Sally  Vic  has  reached  her  place  of  eternal 
rest,  and  is  now  looking  back  regretfully  to  this  wicked  world  ?  "  said 
Betsy  Brown. 

"  Tain't  no  use  to  talk  to  some  folks,"  said  Mrs.  Cramp.  "  They 
don't  believe  nothin'.  But  the  time  will  come  when  they  will  believe 
and  humble  themselves  in  sack  cloth  and  ashes,  or  they  will  die  in 
sins  and  go  to  the  place  prepared  for  the  devil  and  his  angels — the 
lake  of  fire  and  brimstone  that  no  water  can  put  out." 

"  Do  you  believe,  Mrs.  Cramp,  in  a  literal  lake  of  fire  and  brim 
stone?" 

"  I  should  think  anyone  would  believe  it  who  pretends  to  believe 
in  the  bible." 

"There  are  very  many  things  in  the  bible  which  are  not  to  be 
taken  literally.  Now,  you  believe  that  some  rich  men  go  to  heaven, 
do  you  not  ?  " 

"  Wall,  yas,  I  think  Squire  Ivers  went  to  heaven  and  maybe  now 
and  then  another  rich  man." 

"  And  yet,  you  know,  Christ  said  it  was  easier  for  a  camel  to  go 
through  the  eye  of  a  needle  than  for  a  rich  man  to  enter  the  kingdom 


94  ENDURA:  OP, 

of  heaven.  Now,  you  know  a  camel  cannot  go  through  the  eye  of 
a  needle?" 

"Yes,  he  could  if  the  Almighty  so  willed  it.  Betsy  Brown,  you 
may  be  smart,  but  you  will  find  others  jest  as  smart  as  you  be.  Some 
that  have  lived  longer  in  the  world  than  you  have." 

Miss  Brown  acknowledged  that  it  might  be  so,  and  excusing  her 
self  took  her  leave  with  her  sister. 

Among  bigoted  or  narrow-minded  people,  opposition  engenders 
hatred  and  contempt ;  and  though  they  may  not  be  able  to  reason  with 
such  they  appear  to  know  how  to  abuse  them.  The  ignorant  are  most 
stubborn  in  their  belief.  They  refuse  to  be  taught,  and  pretend  to 
despise  education  and  refinement,  and  their  actions  seem  to  prove 
that  they  really  do  prefer  darkness,  inasmuch  as  they  prefer  to  herd 
with  those  of  the  same  stripe  as  themselves  to  being  with  the  educated 
and  refined.  No  sooner  had  the  Brown  girls  gone  than  those  who 
remained  appeared  united.  Whatever  Miss  Tartar  said  Mrs.  Cramp 
indorsed  and  Miss  Cutting  acquiesced  in. 

First  of  all  Betsy  Brown  was  no  better  than  she  ought  to  be.  In 
fact,  the  whole  Brown  family  were  getting  altogether  too  liberal  in  their 
belief,  and  they  were  quite  willing  to  find  an  easier  way  to  heaven  than 
the  straight  and  narrow  way.  And  some  of  them  acted  as  though  they 
did  not  believe  there  was  such  a  place  as  hell,  where  the  fire  is  not 
quenched  and  the  worm  dieth  not." 

"  But,"  said  Mrs.  Cramp,  and  it  appeared  to  give  her  no  little  sat 
isfaction,  "  they  will  find  out  their  mistake  when  they  git  to  that 
place,  where  there  will  be  weeping  and  wailing  and  gnashing  of 
teeth." 

How  long  such  people  enjoy  talking  ill  of  their  neighbors  depends 
upon  their  endurance  and  the  bitterness  of  their  opposition. 

Every  household  where  death  has  entered  has  an  air  of  loneliness 
about  it. 

Everything  seems  so  silent.  The  very  smoke  rising  from  the 
chimney  seems  to  have  a  significance  it  never  had  before. 

The  room  where  a  corpse  has  lain  has  a  peculiarly  vacant  and 
lonely  seeming  to  those  unaccustomed  to  looking  the  grim  messenger 
in  the  face.  Especially  is  that  so  in  the  county  where  the  gaunt 
spectre  comes  but  seldom. 


THREE    GENERATIONS.  95 

But  at  an  undertaker's  in  a  great  city  it  becomes  so  a  matter  of 
business  that  those  interested  do  not  seem  to  care.  One  body  is 
scarcely  removed  before  another  is  in  its  place.  The  hearse  is  hur 
ried  back  from  the  cemetery  for  the  second  rand  third  load,  and  the 
impatient  undertaker  can  scarcely  endure  the  slow  march  to  the  grave; 
so  when  they  turn  homeward,  they  must,  if  possible,  make  up  for 
the  time  lost  on  their  way  to  the  cemetery.  It  becomes  a  business, 
and  the  more  they  can  accomplish  in  a  day  the  more  money  they 
make.  Like  the  clown  in  "  Hamlet;"  they  sing  at  grave-making,  and 
as  "  Hamlet "  says,  truly,  "  The  hand  of  little  appointment  has  a 
daintier  sense." 

When  people  are  buried  in  the  country  they  appear  to  be  soon 
forgotten.  That  is,  if  we  are  to  judge  by  the  way  the  country  grave 
yards  are  neglected.  It  was  a  fashion,  a  century  ago,  to  stake  off 
some  out  of  the  way  corner  of  the  farm  for  a  burying  ground,  where 
the  family  are  laid  away  one  by  one  and  forgotten;  often  without  a 
stone  to  mark  the  limits  of  their  earthly  possession.  Sometimes  a 
rough  chip  or  flattened  boulder  would  be  placed  somewhere  hear  the 
boundary  line.  But  no  name,  or  record,  or  letter,  could  be  traced 
which  would  enlighten  those  who  passed  by.  And  in  a  few  years 
friends  even  could  not  determine  which  was  the  mound  or  which  the 
declivity  above  those  whom  they  had  once  known  and  loved  and 
honored. 

When  large  families  grew  up  they  usually  scattered.  Some  found 
their  way  to  the  towns  and  cities,  and  others  to  the  far  west.  The 
father  of  a  large  family  was  taken  away,  and  according  to  the  custom 
of  the  times  his  body  was  placed  in  a  pine  coffin,  lettered  (with  brass 
nails  upon  the  lid)  "A.  E,"  whatever  it  might  have  been.  It  was 
loaded  into  a  common  lumber  wagon  and  carted  away.  Bars  were 
opened  and  fences  were  torn  down  for  the  procession  to  pass.  Over 
rough  causeways,  through  swamps  and  narrow  paths  in  the  woods  to 
a  lonely  spot  where  the  grave  yawned  for  its  own.  The  ropes  were 
brought  out  and  the  body  lowered  into  the  hole  called  a  grave.  The 
earth  was  thrown  in  and  all  was  done.  More  than  forty  years  after 
the  wife  followed  her  husband,  and  those  of  the  children,  who  had 
been  away  and  learned  the  ways  of  the  world,  were  anxious  that  their 
mother  should  have  a  respectable  coffin,  even  if  it  were  to  be  placed 


96  ENDURA:  OR, 

in  an  out  of  the  way  graveyard.  A  very  nice  casket  was  obtained 
with  plate  and  trimmings,  much  to  the  disgust  of  one  of  the  rough 
old  farmers  who  remembered  the  pine  coffin  of  her  spouse  who  pre- 
ceeded  her  by  nearly  half  a  century;  when  asked  what  he  thought  of 
the  costly  casket,  he  said  the  family  had  evidently  not  forgotten  the 
pine  box  they  put  the  old  man  in,  which  came  to  pieces  in  the  wagon 
as  they  jolted  over  the  stones,  and  was  tied  up  with  birch  withes  that 
it  might  hold  the  body  until  it  was  well  covered  up  in  the  earth. 

"But  times  are  changed,"  said  he.  "Folks  are  better  than  they 
used  to  be.  When  old  Bundy  was  buried  fifty  years  ago,  it  was 
winter  and  they  put  his  body  on  an  ox-sled  and  in  going  over  an  old 
stone  wall,  which  was  covered  with  snow,  they  upset  the  sled 
and  lost  the  coffin  in  a  snow  bank;  when  they  dug  it  up,  the  top  had 
come  off  and  Bundy's  body  had  tumbled  out.  That  was  a  rough 
winter  in  these  parts;  there  was  not  a  stone  wall  or  fence  to  be  seen 
any  where  about  here,  and  as  for  travelling,  we  could  not  get  about 
for  two  weeks.  All  of  our  sheep  were  buried  up,  and  some  of  them 
were  not  found  for  weeks,  and  when  they  were  found,  they  were 
nearly  starved  to  death." 

Such  were  some  of  the  winters  our  ancesters  had  to  contend  with, 
and  even  at  the  present  day,  terrible  snow  storms  are  not  unusual,  in 
bleak  old  New  England.  And  the  "  oldest  inhabitant  "  tells  of  the 
storms  they  had  when  he  was  a  boy.  and  compares  it  with  the  ones 
of  to-day.  All  of  the  old  men  seem  to  remember  something  a  little 
worse  when  they  were  boys. 

They  acknowledge  every  winter  to  be  the  most  severe  within 
the  memory  of  the  oldest  inhabitant,  but  doubtless  old  people  some 
times  forget. 


THREE    GENERATIONS.  97 


CHAPTER  XIII. 

THE   SCHOOLMASTER. 

Yet  is  the  schoolhouse  rude 
As  the  chrysalis  is  to  the  butterfly, 
To  the  rich  flowers  the  seed. 

—Street's  Poems. 

OUMMER  flowers  had  bloomed  and  faded.  Autumn  fruits  were 
O  ripe.  The  chestnuts  and  hickory  nuts  had  fallen  to  the  ground, 
and  the  wild  grape  was  frost  killed  upon  the  vine.  The  swamps  had 
donned  their  Autumn  hues,  and  dry  leaves  rustled  under  foot.  The 
season  was  at  hand  when  a  school-teacher  was  to  be  chosen. 

The  school-meeting  was  called,  and  the  candidates  presented  them 
selves;  some  from  a  distance,  with  their  credentials,  offered  to  take 
the  school,  in  District  20.  That  was  the  district  in  which  General 
Ivers  lived,  and  as  a  matter  of  course,  he  was  elected  chairman. 
When  the  candidates  had  all  been  proposed  and  their  merits  can 
vassed,  there  was  a  general  lull;  it  remained  for  General  Ivers  to 
make  some  remarks,  which  somewhat  surprised  some  of  the  mem 
bers  of  the  board.  He  said  there  was  no  doubt  but  that  one  or 
two  of  the  young  men  who  had  come  before  them  were  in  every  way 
qualified  to  teach  the  school. 

"  But,"  he  said,  "  I  have  a  proposition  to  make,  which  I  think  will 
meet  with  the  approbation  of  the  gentlemen  composing  the  board  of 
school  directors.  I  am  about  to  propose  the  name  of  a  young  man 
for  teacher,  who  has  grown  up  with  us,  who  studied  in  this  school- 
house  and  who  is  every  way  qualified  for  the  position;  one  who  is 
worthy  and  deserving,  but  whose  modesty  will  not  allow  him  to  pre 
sent  his  name.  I  allude  to  Donald  Kent." 

The  announcement  caused  some  surprise.  But  no  one  seemed  to 
speak,  and  the  General  said,  if  there  was  no  objection,  he  would  sug 
gest  that  Mr.  Brown  and  Mr.  Cribbe  wait  upon  the  young  man  and 
get  his  consent  to  take  the  school. 

One  of  the  trustees  ventured  to  ask  if  the  boy  could  pass  the  exam- 


98  ENDURA  :    OR, 

ination  before  the  committee.  The  General  said  unless  he  could,  of 
course  he  could  not  get  a  certificate,  and  that  would  end  it,  and  they 
could  engage  some  one  else.  And  so  the  meeting  adjourned  to  meet 
in  three  days. 

In  the  meantime  the  committee  waited  upon  Donald,  who  was 
more  surprised  than  were  the  trustees  when  his  name  was  first  men 
tioned  by  General  Ivers. 

At  first  he  said  no.  But  when  asked  if  he  thought  he  could  get  a 
certificate  he  promptly  answered  yes.  When  they  said  General  Ivers 
would  expect  him  to  accept  the  position,  which  he  finally  consented 
to  do  if  he  received  a  certificate. 

In  due  course  of  time  the  school  began,  and  it  was  admitted  by  all 
that  there  never  had  been  a  more  orderly  school  kept  in  the  district. 
Even  Jack  Young  tried  to  behave  himself,  and  it  was  well  that  he 
did,  for  the  other  boys  of  the  school  were  not  in  a  humor  to  bear 
much  from  the  bully,  since  his  mean  abuse  of  Donald  years  before. 

Of  course,  little  Dura  attended,  and  many  a  night  was  pleasantly 
passed  beneath  the  roof  of  General  Ivers,  which  was  a  relief  to  some 
of  the  poor  families,  since  the  teacher  was  expected  to  use  all  alike, 
prorating  according  to  the  number  of  pupils  sent.  As  the  saying  was, 
"boarding  around/'  It  was  surprising  to  every  one  in  the  district 
that  Donald  Kent,  who  came  into  the  neighborhood  scarcely  three 
years  before,  a  simple  unlettered  boy,  should  have  so  far  outstripped 
all  the  best  scholars  in  the  school  as  to  become  their  preceptor,  and 
from  that  time  forward  the  young  pedagogue  became  of  considerable 
importance.  He  was  beloved  and  honored  by  all.  The  aged  ad 
mired  him  for  his  sterling  qualities,  and  the  young  appeared  anxious 
to  emulate  the  characteristics  so  much  admired  by  those  older  than 
themselves. 

When  Joe  Tartar  was  extricated  from  the  little  unpleasantness  in 
to  which  his  temper  had  gotten  him,  he  knocked  around  home  and 
did  nothing  for  some  months.  At  length  he  went  to  the  city,  and, 
naturally  enough,  he  visited  an  uncle,  the  brother  of  his  father. 

The  old  gentleman  welcomed  his  nephew,  and  took  him  around  to 
different  establishments,  hoping  that  something  would  interest  him 
into  which  he  could  assist  him  to  get  a  position. 


THREE    GENERATIONS.  99 

Nothing  appeared  to  suit  him,  and  time  rolled  on ;  days  ran  into 
weeks,  and  weeks  into  months. 

It  was  nearly  a  year  since  the  old  gentleman  first  welcomed  his 
nephew,  and  the  young  man  said  he  could  not  find  anything  to  do. 

He  hung  around  a  stable,  and  earned  a  quarter  of  a  dollar  now 
and  then,  taking  out  a  horse,  or  perhaps  a  dollar  or  two,  driving  for 
some  of  their  customers.  He  still  lived  with  his  relatives,  but,  of 
course,  he  had  not  been  able  to  pay  anything  for  his  board.  The 
little  he  earned  went  for  drink,  cigars,  etc.,  but  it  was  insufficient 
for  his  growing  wants.  There  was  not  a  saloon  far  or  near  which 
did  not  have  an  account  chalked  up  against  him.  He  owed  for  the 
clothes  upon  his  back,  and  for  the  shoes  upon  his  feet. 

His  associates  were  no  better  off  financially  than  himself,  so  that 
he  could  not  possibly  borrow  from  them.  Once  in  a  while  there 
would  be  a  raise  made  by  some  one  of  his  half  dozen  companions, 
and  for  a  time  they  all  appeared  flush.  They  were  well  acquainted 
with  most  of  the  dark  alleys,  and  with  those  who  inhabited  them. 
There  were  congregated  the  vilest  of  the  earth,  both  men  and  women, 
that  disgraced  their  names  ;  low  dens  without  one  ray  of  light  by  day; 
doors  closed,  and  windows  boarded  up  so  that  there  might  as  well  have 
been  none  there;  frail  women  who  caroused  all'night,  and  lay  in  stupor 
and  drunken  debauch  all  day ;  thieves,  and  gamblers,  and  bla  cklegs, 
who  seldom  walked  upon  the  traveled  streets  without  looking  this 
way,  and  that,  as  if  in  fear  of  arrest  or  detection.  The  ragged  urchin, 
the  sickly  child,  the  filthy  negro,  the  poor  and  ignorant  of  all  colors 
and  nationalities  are  to  be  found  in  such  vile  holes.  And  how  an 
average  young  man,  who  has  been  educated  in  the  country,  can  find  en 
tertainment  in  such  a  loathsome  place  passeth  understanding,  and 
yet  many  there  are  who,  having  left  good  homes,  drift  to  such  places  as 
naturally  as  water  runs  down  hill.  ' 

The  police  of  a  city  usually  know  most,  or  many  of  the  characters 
who  frequent  those  places,  and  often  they  spot  them,  as  they  say,  for 
future  use.  Sometimes  they  manage  to  elude  for  a  long  time,  the 
most  cunning  detective,  and  some  times  the  unreliable  or  dishonest 
officer  accepts  bribes  from  such,  when  the  rogues  put  on  an  assurance 
and  go  forth  unmolested,  while  the  same  officer  will  arrest  a  boy,  or 
a  low  woman,  and  bring  them  to  the  bar  of  justice,  simply  because  they 


ioo  ENDURA:  OR, 

have  no  money  to  pay  him  to  let  them  go  free.  There  is  too  much 
of  this  kind  of  justice  in  all  great  cities. 

The  crowd  to  which  Joe  Tartar  belonged  was  composed  of  what 
would  be  called  fast  young  men,  if  they  were  supplied  with  plenty  of 
money,  but  if  compelled  to  live  by  their  wits  they  are  called 
men  about  town,  or  loafers.  Almost  any  young  man  with  those  pecu 
liar  characteristics,  is  perfectly  willing  to  be  called  fast,  while  he  ob 
jects  to  being  termed  a  loafer.  Some  such  young  men  whose  parents 
live  in  the  city,  manage  to  keep  up  an  appearance  of  respectability 
for  years,  while  they  are  never  known  to  do  a  day's  work,  and  such 
sometimes  give  standing  to  their  more  questionable  associatse. 

Mr.  Sharp,  the  detective,  did  not  entirely  forget  the  old  calico 
horse,  and  at  times  he  would  say  to  himself:  "  What  has  become  of 
him  ?  "  Bogus  money  was  still  afloat  in  good,  honest  hands.  Dry 
goods  men  had  it ;  grocery  men  had  more  or  less  of  it,  almost  every 
branch  of  business  was  helped  along  with  the  stuff;  some  of  it  might 
be  found  in  almost  every  house,  and  no  one  seemed  to  think  it  crim 
inal  to  get  rid  of  a  questionable  piece,  and  it  was  certainly  not  crim 
inal  to  be  found  with  it  in  your  possession. 

Once  in  a  while  bright,  new  silver  dollars  were  in  circulation.  This 
and  that  person  would  have  one,  and  nothing  in  particular  would  be 
thought  of  it. 

One  day  our  detective  espied  his  well-remembered  Equestrian 
friend,  and  his  old  mare.  The  same  old  saddle-bags  were  thrown 
across  her  back,  and  the  same  red  eyes  seemed  to  be  glaring  at  him. 

He  took  a  notion  to  follow  the  pair  for  a  while,  just  to  see  where 
they  went,  and  what  they  did.  At  first  the  old  man  rode  to  the  stable 
and  dismounted,  taking  off  his  saddle-bags  himself.  His  horse  was 
fed  and  cared  for,  and  the  old  man  took  care  of  himself. 

Mr.  Sharp  noticed  that  he  took  Joe  Tartar  aside  and  talked  to  him 
in  an  undertone,  and  in  an  earnest  manner.  He  also  noticed  that  he 
gave  Joe  a  small  package,  at  the  same  time  he  looked  cautiously 
around  as  though  he  was  fearful  that  someone  might  see  them.  They 
separated.  Joe  soon  met  some  of  his  companions,  and  by  his  ac 
tions  he  seemed  to  say,  "  I'm  all  right." 

There  were  two  of  his  friends  together,  so  the  three  entered  a  bar 
room  and  called  for  drink.  Joe  threw  down  a  silver  dollar.  Mr. 


THREE    GENERATIONS.  IOI 

Sharp  was  partly  hidden  behind  some  lum5eiS  oil  tbe  opposite,  &ide  of 
the  street,  and  he  could  not  quite  see  all  which  appeared  to  be  going 
on. 

After  awhile  the  three  came  out,  and  soon  they  met  another  of  their 
friends,  who  was  also  invited  to  take  a  drink  in  another  saloon,  so 
they  all  drank  again;  and  as  near  as  Mr.  Sharp  could  make  out  who 
could  not  come  to  the  front,  another  silver  dollar  was  thrown  down, 
and  the  change  received.  So  from  place  to  place  they  were  tracked, 
until  the  original  one  was  multiplied  by  six,  and  still  they  went  on. 
Of  course,  they  were  all  getting  pretty  boosy,  and  did  not  have  that 
discretion  they  would  otherwise  have  had. 

Joe  Tartar  made  no  bones  of  exhibiting  his  money,  and  like  most 
drunken  men,  he  became  very  generous,  giving  something  to  each  of 
his  companions,  and  seemingly  cared  very  little  who  saw  him. 

All  of  the  six  were  characters  well  known  to  Mr.  Sharp,  and  the 
web  was  nearly  spun  into  which  they  would  all  soon  stumble. 

When  he  had  seen  and  learned  all  that  it  was  possible  for  him  to 
learn  from  the  young  men  he  took  a  back  track.  He  visited  the  bar 
rooms  one  after  another,  the  proprietors  of  which  were  well  known  to 
him.  He  would  casually  ask  them  if  they  had  received  any  bogus 
coin,  upon  which  they  would  examine  their  tills,  when  the  new  dollar 
would  invariably  come  to  light.  Mr.  Sharp  did  not  fail  to  take  the 
coin,  giving  in  exchange  a  receipt  or  another  dollar.  He  followed  up 
the  lead  until  he  found  Joe  Tartar  buying  a  load  of  oats  from  a 
farmer,  and  the  next  day  he  purchased  a  load  of  hay,  both  of  which 
were  paid  for  in  the  new  coin  and  taken  to  the  stables  and  disposed 
of  for  a  trifle  less.  All  kinds  of  farm  produce  were  purchased  and 
paid  for  in  like  coin. 

He  ascertained  that  the  old  man  made  some  purchases  and  resold 
them  for  whatever  he  could  get  offered.  At  last  he  seemed  to  have 
spent  all  his  money  and  was  making  preparations  to  get  out  of  the 
city.  He  had  not  been  lost  sight  of  for  a  single  day  by  our  astute 
detective,  who  would  encounter  him  as  an  old  man  with  along  white 
beard,  or  as  a  dandy  gotten  up  exquisitely.  At  another  time  a  good- 
natured  farmer  would  meet  him  and  banter  him  for  a  horse  trade  or 
try  to  sell  him  something.  He  appeared  to  the  half-dozen  young  ras 
cals  in  similar  guises,  and  was  often  the  butt  of  some  vulgar  joke. 


io2  ENDURA:  OR, 

But  he  never  "lost  a  trick,'"  as  he  said,  and  he  was  never  in  their 
company  for  half  an  hour  that  he  did  not  learn  something  of  interest 
to  himself  r,t  least.  •  ^  : 

When  Mr.  Smith  was  ready  to  leave,  he  thought  it  was  time  some 
thing  should  be  done.  His  first  act  was  to  arrest  the  old  man,  who 
was  secure  in  jail  before  he  made  known  what  he  intended  to  do.  His 
next  plan  was  to  arrest  the  six  accessories,  which  was  accomplished 
with  the  assistance  of  the  police.  Joe  Tartar,  "Jack  Smart,"  alias 
"  Smarty,"  and  Ben  Burt  were  all  captured  at  the  same  time  and 
place,  where  they  were  having  a  game  of  cards  with  another  rough 
looking  man.  They  had  put  up  a  little  money  just  to  make  the  thing 
interesting  as  they  said,  which  was  against  the  law,  as  they  well  knew. 

As  soon  as  they  were  secured,  Mr.  Sharp,  accompanied  by  two  offi 
cers,  visited  another  of  their  haunts,  where  were  found  Sol  Silver  and 
Dick  Burr,  "  Black  Dick,"  as  he  was  familiarly  called.  They  were 
both  taken  in,  and  the  last  of  the  six,  Ralph  Gopher,  was  the  only  one 
at  large.  All  the  places  of  rendezvous  were  visited,  but  the  man  was 
not  to  be  found.  Ralph  was  the  son  of  a  close-fisted  old  hypocrite 
who  had  grown  rich  by  his  mean,  miserly  habits.  He  thought  more 
of  saving  a  dollar  than  he  did  of  saving  his  son  ;  and  his  wife,  though 
perhaps  quite  as  covetous  as  her  husband,  had  managed  to  supply  her 
scapegrace  of  a  son  with  more  or  less  money  for  his  daily  wants.  She 
was  constantly  shielding  him  and  making  excuses  for  his  shortcom 
ings,  and  it  was  strongly  suspected  that  he  got  wind  of  the  arrest  of 
his  companions  and  escaped  or  was  secreted  by  his  friends.  The 
officers  visited  his  home  where  they  were  told  he  had  gone  out  of  town, 
but  to  what  place  they  did  not  say,  or  rather  they  pretended  not  to 
know. 

There  were  six  arrested  and  three  of  the  six  succeeded  in  procuring 
bail.  The  others  were  locked  up  to  await  trial.  The  three  who  got 
bail  were  Joe  Tartar,  Sol  Silver,  and  Ben  Burt. 

Of  course  Joe's  uncle  went  his  bail  and  he  was  allowed  to  go  free. 
The  ungrateful  villain  went  to  his  home,  told  his  mother  how  he  had 
been  unjustly  accused,  and  blamed  everybody,  even  to  his  uncle,  who, 
he  said,  was  to  blame  for  his  being  with  the  young  men  who  were  sus 
pected  with  him.  Of  course  his  mother  believed  him,  and  as  a  con- 


THREE    GENERATIONS.  103 

sequence  berated  his  uncle  for  not  taking  more  interest  in  her  pet 
boy. 

After  remaining  at  his  home  for  a  few  days  he  suddenly  disap 
peared.  Some  said  he  had  gone  to  sea,  others  that  he  had  gone  to 
New  York, 

One  thing  was  certain.  Mrs  Tartar,  sold  a  piece  of  property  for 
which  she  received  the  cash,  and  as  she  had  no  other  use  for  the 
money  it  was  suspected  that  it  went  to  her  hopeful  son. 

In  course  of  time  the  others  were  tried,  but  all  were  acquitted  ex 
cept  the  old  man  Smith.  It  was  shown  that  they  were  in  no  way  as 
sociated  with  the  old  man,  and  that  they  did  not  not  know  how 
young  Tartar  came  by  the  money. 

It  appeared  that  they  were  only  instruments  used  unwittingly  by 
the  old  man  and  Joe  Tartar  to  get  the  stuff  in  circulation.  As  soon 
as  it  was  known  that  the  quartette  were  acquitted,  Ralph  Gopher 
turned  up  in  his  old  haunts  as  worthless  as  ever.  He  was  not  even 
arrested,  as  the  officers  well  knew  it  would  be  impossible  to  convict 
him  after  the  decision  in  the  other  cases.  So  that  the  impression  went 
abroad  that  the  young  men  had  been  unjustly  suspected. 

Goold  Smith  was  tried  and  convicted  and  suffered  the  penalty  of 
the  law.  The  mysterious  house  by  the  cliff  was  entered  and  all  the 
apparatus  and  machinery  necessary  for  the  manufacture  of  counterfeit 
coin  was  found.  It  was  found  that  the  old  mare  was  the  only  assist 
ant  that  the  old  man  had  in  his  manufactory  of  spurious  coin. 

Joe  Tartar  did  not  return,  and  of  course  his  uncle  was  compelled 
to  pay  the  amount  for  which  he  had  gone  security. 

Mrs.  Tartar  wrote  him  a  letter  blaming  him  for  not  advising  Joseph 
to  keep  out  of  bad  company,  as  it  was  certain  that  his  associates 
had  gotten  him  into  the  difficulty,  though  it  had  been  proved  that 
they  were  innocent,  and  of  course,  Joseph  was  just  as  innocent  as  the 
others. 

She  wrote  to  her  brother-in-law  that  she  was  fearful  that  her  poor 
boy  had  been  murdered  or  that  he  had  made  way  with  himself,  as  she 
had  not  heard  from  him  since  he  went  away.  The  uncle  now  had 
his  eyes  open,  and  he  well  knew  why  Joe  did  not  show  up. 


ENDURA:    OR, 


Of  course  the  affair  was  considerably  talked  about,  not  only  in  the 
city,  but  more  especially  in  S  -  ,  where  two  of  the  principal  charac 
ters  belonged. 


THREE    GENERATIONS.  10$ 


CHAPTER  XIV. 

WITCHES. 

Oft,  what  seems 

A  trifle,  a  mere  nothing,  by  itself, 
In  some  nice  situation  turns  the  scale 
Of  fates  and  rules  the  most  important  actions. 

THE  arrest  and  conviction  of  the  old  man  Smith  created  quite  a 
sensation,  and  the  fact  that  Joe  Tartar  was  implicated  did  not 
tend  to  raise  him  in  the  estimation  of  the  respectable  portion  of  the 
town.  Even  children  seemed  to  feel  that  something  terrible  had  hap 
pened  to  the  old  man  and  his  old  horse.  The  queer-looking  beast 
was  not  seen  on  her  rounds,  and  the  old  man's  house  appeared  lonely 
and  ghostlike.  Some  said  it  was  haunted,  and  timid  people  gave  it  a 
wide  berth.  It  was  closed  up,  and  as  the  setting  sun  shone  upon  the 
windows  they  sent  back  a  ghastly  glare,  as  if  demons  were  within, 
lighting  their  hellish  fires. 

Old  people  remembered  hearing  of  haunted  houses.  But  it  was 
very  long  ago  when  an  old  witch  died.  It  was  said  they  built 
their  fires  every  night,  and  country  people  used  to  hurry  by,  looking 
behind  to  be  sure  the  ghosts  of  the  disembodied  hags  were  not  follow 
ing  them. 

The  stories  could  not  be  traced  to  any  reliable  source,  but  having 
been  much  talked  about,  and  by  some  believed,  others,  somewhat 
credulous,  were  forced  to  admit  that  where  there  was  so  much  smoke 
there  might  be  some  little  fire ;  especially,  as  the  Bible  was  authority 
upon  witches  there  was  no  good  and  sufficient  reason  why  a  few  of 
the  genus  homo  might  not  have  come  across  the  Atlantic  in  early 
times. 

Possibly,  some  good  ship  brought  them  safely  over,  or  it  might 
have  been  they  were  too  much  persecuted  in  the  old  country  and  con 
cluded  to  just  step  across  the  water  some  fine  night  to  see  what  there 
was  upon  this  side. 

Of  course,  there  must  have  been  something  in  the  witch  theory,  for 


106  ENDURA:  OR, 

were  there  not  plenty  of  them  in  the  Massachusetts  Colony  in  early 
times? 

Was  it  not  a  fact  that  many  of  them  had  been  captured  and  tried 
by  impartial  judges,  and  convicted  too,  and  sentenced  by  those  fair- 
minded,  unbiased  dispensers  of  law  and  justice?  With  such  positive 
proofs  who  would  dare  deny  that  such  things  as  haunted  houses  and 
witches  ever  existed? 

At  all  events,  the  good  people  of  S were  perfectly  willing  to  be 
lieve  anything  that  would  give  a  little  variety  to  the  everlasting  mo 
notony  of  the  place. 

There  are  those  living  to-day  in  New  England  who  believe  that 
such  things  did  once  exist,  and  not  only  puritanical  New  England, 
but,  without  doubt,  almost  any  State  in  this  great  Union  harbors  those 
who  are  just  as  superstitious.  Some,  who  may  not  quite  believe  in 
witches,  having  such  indisputable  proofs  in  the  past,  are  not  quite 
ready  to  deny  that  they  may  not  exist  somewhere  even  to-day. 

New  and  strange  doctrines  are  all  the  time  being  promulgated,  all 
of  which  have  more  or  less  disciples  or  followers. 

These  same  theories  or  doctrines  may  be  exploded  and  forgotten 
within  a  few  years,  when  it  might  be  impossible  to  bring  proof  that 
they  ever  existed  at  all. 

At  all  events  there  were  glaring  lights  seen  in  the  windows  of  the 
old  counterfeiter's  house,  and  they  were  always  seen  just  before  sun 
set  or  when  the  god  of  day  first  peeped  over  the  hills,  which  showed 
that  the  witches  lighted  up  early  and  stayed  late.  Some  skeptical 
person  said,  it  was  simply  the  sun  shining  upon  the  windows  that 
gave  the  illusion.  But  as  that  was  only  their  theory,  we  leave  the 
reader  to  judge  between  the  believer  and  the  skeptic,  possibly  there 
may  be  precedents  and  colorings  of  truth  for  both  of  them.  The  be 
lievers  certainly  had  colorings. 

George  Haywood  went  past  the  abandoned  old  house  often,  and 
wondered  at  the  ignorance  and  superstitution  of  people,  who  could 
attach  any  importance  to  such  everyday  natural  causes,  and  his  son 
was  no  less  surprised  at  the  almost  criminal  ignorance  of  people  who 
could  be  so  easily  imposed  upon.  Criminally  ignorant,  because 
being  assured  of  the  fallacy  of  such  superstition  they  were  still  unwill 
ing  to  let  go  of  a  delusion  which  had,  for  generations,  been  promul- 


THREE    GENERATIONS.  lOy 

gated  and  believed.  The  man  who  would  attempt  to  deny  that  such 
things  ever  existed  was  set  down  as  a  heretic  and  unworthy  of  belief. 
Some  of  the  most  bitter  controversies  were  had  upon  subjects  so  ridi 
culous,  the  contestants  being  alike  ignorant  and  stubborn;  but  now 
and  then  those  with  more  knowledge  were  drawn  into  such  disputes, 
where  they  were  obliged  to  advocate  an  opinion  given  accidentally, 
perhaps,  but  so  expressed  that  it  was  susceptable  of  more  than  one  con 
struction.  Such  a  one  was  very  likely  to  have  a  whole  household 
against  him,  all  arguing  with  as  much  reason  as  a  flock  of  geese,  so 
that  the  poor  man  who  had  expressed  a  belief,  found  there  was  no  op 
portunity  of  backing  out,  or  arguing  with  his  adversary.  Young 
Haywood  was  often  so  caught. 

Rodney  Haywood  was  about  three  years  younger  than  Bernard 
Ivers,  which  would  make  him  about  five  years  older  than  little  Dura; 
so  that  when  she  was  a  modest  little  miss  of  thirteen,  Rodney  was  in 
his  eighteenth  year ;  a  tall,  handsome  young  man,  who  would  have 
created  a  favorable  impression  in  whatever  society  he  might  have 
been  placed.  Even  the  bigoted  people  of  the  neighborhood  were 
obliged  to  admit  that  George  Haywood  had  a  handsome  son. 

Rodney  Haywood,  for  reasons  before  mentioned,  had  very  few  ac 
quaintances  in  the  village.  The  daughter  of  the  village  physician 
was  about  the  only  young  lady  with  whom  he  was  on  terms  of  inti 
macy  or  even  friendship. 

It  was  only  when  he  visited  the  city  that  he  met  young  ladies  of 
his  own  station,  and  with  whom  he  cared  to  associate.  Many  of  the 
young  women  in  the  village  would  have  been  glad  to  have  made  the 
acquaintance  of  a  young  man  of  such  personal  attractions,  but  the 
edict  had  gone  forth,  and  there  were  none  bold  enough  to  defy  public 
opinion,  or  lay  themselves  liable  to  be  talked  about  by  associating  or 
countenancing  a  young  man  whose  father  was  a  noted  Universalist. 
It  was  true  that  there  had  never  been  one  word  against  either  father  or 
son,  except  the  religion  of  the  father. 

There  was  one  place  in  the  neighborhood  where  the  young  man 
was  ever  cordially  welcomed,  and  that  was  at  the  beautiful  home  of 
General  Ivers;  not  only  was  he  welcomed  by  General  and  Mrs.  Ivers, 
but  Endura  seemed  never  more  happy  than  when  he  came,  and 


io8 


ENDURA:  OR, 


when  he  would  go  away  a  cloud  would  overshadow  her  sunny  coun 
tenance  which  did  not  pass  half  as  speedily  as  it  came. 

Even  when  a  girl  of  thirteen  or  fourteen  he  seemed  to  have  an  in 
fluence  over  her,  which  no  one  else  had.  Donald  Kent  was  greatly 
respected  by  Endura,  and  some  knowing  ones  predicted  that  unless 
the  parents  interfered  she  would  eventually  marry  Donald.  When 
she  was  sixteen  years  old  her  beauty  and  accomplishments  were 
known  far  and  wide. 

Hers  was  a  peculiar  beauty.  In  stature  she  was  rather  below  than 
above  the  average  women.  Her  eyes  were  dark,  full  and  expressive ; 
her  nose  regular,  tending  toward  the  Grecian,  rather  than  the  Roman 
type ;  her  mouth  was  a  perfect  Cupid's  bow,  with  lips  like  dew-tipped 
rose-leaves ;  her  chin  was  as  if  it  had  been  cast  in  Venus'  mould,  and 
her  small,  well-shaped  ears  were  like  pink  sea-shells.  But  her  crown 
ing  glory  was  her  hair,  which  fell  in  beautiful  tresses  about  her  white 
neck  and  shoulders  like  sun-tinted  waves  breaking  in  golden  sprays 
over  cliffs  of  alabaster. 

It  was  not  so  much  one  feature  which  attracted,  but  a  combination 
of  the  whole.  Her  form  was  beautifully  moulded,  her  head  well  set 
upon  her  shoulders,  and  the  general  contour  of  her  figure,  perfec 
tion.  It  was  not  altogether  the  perfect  model  which  so  attracted 
every  beholder,  but  there  were  certain  pretty  little  ways  which  cap 
tivated  both  old  and  young.  Not  a  movement  but  was  grace  itself, 
and  that  without  study  or  effort.  Her  speech  was  pretty  and  musical, 
and  her  smile  sweet  and  winning.  She  never  asked  for  anything  in 
reason  that  she  did  not  get.  She  had  been  the  pet  of  her  family 
since  her  birth,  and  no  one  could  be  with  her  and  not  learn  to  love 
her.  Indeed,  none  could  help  loving  her  at  first  sight.  There  was 
no  effort  on  her  part  to  interest  or  attract  more  than  that  considera 
tion  and  politeness  which  she  considered  due  to  every  one  whether 
stranger  or  friend.  She  visited  very  little  among  a  certain  clique 
who  were  notorious  in  the  neighborhood,  and  for  that  reason,  when 
spoken  of  at  all  by  those  who  were  ringleaders  in  scandal  and  abuse, 
she  was  sure  to  come  in  for  a  share  of  their  spite  or  ill-nature.  She 
inherited  her  mother's  characteristics,  as  she  did  her  beauty.  Even 
this,  by  those  who  delighted  to  defame,  was  cause  sufficient  for  un 
complimentary  remarks  and  impudent  slurs.  Groundless  insinua- 


THREE    GENERATIONS.  1 09 

tions  were  often  indulged  in  by  the  envious  and  rude.  Some  moth 
ers  held  her  up  to  their  daughters  as  a  model  to  be  patterned  after, 
which  was  not,  in  every  instance,  quite  agreeable.  More  than  once 
villainous  lies  were  circulated  about  her,  which  were  as  malicious  as 
they  were  criminal.  But  she  did  not  seem  to  realize  the  great  sin 
they  committed,  or  what  the  injury  might  be  to  herself. 

There  was  at  that  time,  and  is  to  this  day,  held  in  some  of  the 
Eastern  States  what  is  called  a  general  meeting,  which  is  an  annual 
meeting  of  representatives  from  different  churches.  The  session 
usually  lasted  three  days,  during  which  time  people  came  from  far 
and  near;  not  particularly  to  listen  to  church  creeds,  or  uninteresting 
sermons,  but  to  see  the  sights  and  meet  friends  who  made  a  point 
of  coming  together  year  after  year. 

Booths  and  cookie-stands  were  fitted  up,  and  often  tents  were 
erected  for  the  accommodation  of  those  who  could  not  otherwise  be 
provided  for.  Some  of  the  more  prominent  men  of  the  place  usually 
invited  strangers  to  their  houses  when  they  were  properly  introduced, 
or  if  requested  by  their  friends  to  entertain  one  of  their  visiting 
brethren.  General  Ivers  usually  had  one  or  more  of  said  gentlemen 
awarded  him.  And  whenever  the  same  brother  came  that  way  after 
wards  he  did  not  forget  Brother  Ivers,  nor  the  good  things  with 
which  the  house  abounded. 

Endura  was  but  little  past  her  sixteenth  birthday  when  one  of 
these  good  brothers  first  met  her.  And  although  he  was  a  man 
nearly  double  her  age,  he  thought  her  fitted  to  be  his  wife,  and  began 
at  once  to  lay  siege  to  the  citadel  of  her  heart,  expecting  capitulation 
at  once.  He  began  by  telling  her  what  an  interest  he  had  in  her 
welfare,  and  asked  her  if  she  had  a  hope  in  Christ.  She  was 
frightened,  and  tried  to  evade  him. 

Her  mother,  quick  at  discerning  any  unusual  action  of  her  daugh 
ter,  was  surprised  and  somewhat  pained  to  see  that  Endura  was  not 
as  polite  to  Mr.  Spooner  as  was  her  wont  to  be  to  strangers. 

Mr.  Ephraim  Spooner  was  exceedingly  pious.  He  prayed  at  the 
table,  and  before  retiring  he  read  a  chapter,  when  all  were  expected 
to  kneel  while  he  prayed  for  fifteen  or  twenty  minutes,  asking  all 
sorts  of  blessings  upon  the  household,  pleading  especially  for  the 
conversion  of  the  young  lady  who  was  beyond  the  pale  of  the  sane- 


IIO  ENDURA  :    OR, 

tuary.  He  prayed  again  and  again  that  she  might  be  brought  into 
the  fold  of  Christ  to  be  one  of  the  gentle  lambs  of  the  good 
Shepherd. 

It  was  all  very  kind  of  Mr.  Spooner,  but  Endura  did  not  appear 
to  have  much  interest  in  his  supplications,  she  did  not  wish  to  be 
a  lamb.  At  last,  just  before  he  was  about  to  leave,  he  told  her 
mother  that  he  should  like  to  talk  to  Endura  before  he  went.  His 
interest  in  her  spiritual  welfare  was  so  great  that  he  could  not  leave 
without  making  an  especial  appeal  to  the  throne  of  grace  for  her  sal 
vation. 

Mrs.  Ivers  told  Endura  that  Mr.  Spooner  was  about  to  leave,  and 
wished  to  see  her  a  moment  before  he  went.  He  was  then  in  the 
parlor,  and  her  mother  requested  her  to  step  in,  and  see  him.  En- 
dura  would  much  rather  he  had  not  made  the  request  or  that  her 
mother  had  not  told  her.  But  there  was  no  alternative  but  to  do  as 
her  mother  and  Mr.  Spooner  requested,  or  to  be  considered  rude. 
She  went  into  the  room,  where  the  good  brother  awaited  her,  with 
fear  and  trembling. 

He  said:  "  My  dear  young  friend,  I  am  about  to  leave  this  hos 
pitable  roof  and  we  may  never  meet  again.  I  feel  it  my  duty  as 
a  Christain  to  try  and  impress  upon  your  mind  the  dangerous 
ground  upon  which  you  are  standing." 

He  then  asked  her  to  kneel  with  him  in  prayer,  which  she  politely 
declined,  telling  him  she  would  listen,  but  she  could  not  kneel,  upon 
which  the  good  man  knelt  down  and  offered  up  another  labored 
prayer  for  the  good  of  the  sister,  who  could  not  be  made  to  realize 
that  all  are  born  sinful,  and  that  none  could  be  saved,  except  through 
and  by  the  atoning  blood  of  Jesus  Christ. 

When  Mr.  Spooner  arose,  Endura  was  standing  at  the  other  side  of 
the  room,  as  pale  as  a  statue.  He  stepped  toward  her  and  reached 
out  his  hand,  which  she  shrank  from,  as  from  a  poisonous  thing.  He 
tried  to  soothe  her,  but  it  was  no  use;  she  was  too  much  wrought  up 
to  speak  or  to  give  attention  to  what  he  said.  When  finally  he  turned 
to  open  the  door  to  leave,  she  mustered  courage  enough  to  bid  him 
good  day  and  he  was  gone. 

Endura  was  in  no  haste  to  go  to  her  mother,  for  she  was  in  no  en 
viable  frame  of  mind,  after  the  ordeal  through  which  she  had  just 


THREE    GENERATIONS.  Ill 

passed.  She  waited  till  Brother  Spooner  was  sure  to  have  taken  his 
departure  from  the  house,  when  she  came  out  and  was  met  by  her 
mother,  who  did  not  require  to  be  told  that  her  daughter  was  morti 
fied  and  vexed,  at  what  she  felt  her  mother  had  been  instrumental  in 
bringing  about  and  subjecting  her  to,  but  she  was  naturally  too  ami 
able  to  make  a  scene  or  to  talk  unbecomingly  to  anyone,  much  less 
her  mother,  and  this  mother  had  too  much  discretion  to  ask  what  the 
good  brother  had  to  say  to  her.  It  was  thought  best  on  the  part  of 
Mrs.  Ivers,  not  to  say  anything  that  would  cause  any  unnecessary 
unpleasantness,  and  Endura  was  quite  as  'willing  to  let  the  matter  be 
forgotten  as  soon  as  possible. 

During  the  winter  following  the  autumn  when  Brother  Spooner 
first  visited  General  Ivers',  there  was  quite  an  excitement  created  by 
a  revival  of  religion  in  S .  There  was  great  interest  felt  through 
out  the  country,  but  in  the  village  of  W the  excitement  was  the 

greatest.  Elder  Swan  and  other  evangelical  preachers  visited  the 
place  and  as  the  good  ministers  of  the  gospel  thereabout  said,  did 
some  excellent  work.  Old  and  young  were  converted  by  scores. 
Even  that  hardened  old  sinner  Ben  Blunt  was  brought  to  see  the 
error  of  his  ways  and  for  a  time  it  really  did  seem  that  he  had  been 
converted,  Now,  Ben  Blunt  was  a  kind  of  butcher,  that  is  he  went 
around  in  the  fall  of  the  year,  and  killed  pigs  and  skinned  them,  tak 
ing  the  skins  for  his  pay.  Occasionally  he  would  be  called  upon  to 
knock  a  bullock  on  the  head,  for  which  a  slice  of  the  animal  and  a 
piece  of  the  liver  was  the  only  compensation. 

When  his  Fall  work  was  done  and  hunting  was  over  for  the  season, 
time  hung  rather  heavy  upon  Ben's  hands.  The  blacksmith  was 
too  busy  shoeing  cattle  for  icy  roads,  and  there  was  not  room  in  the 
small  shop  of  the  cobbler.  The  grocery  man  was  not  always  ami 
able  and  Ben's  wife  gave  him  no  rest  at  home.  So  it  came  about 
that  one  night  he  strayed  into  the  little  church,  as  he  said,  "just  to 
hear  them  d d  fools  shout." 

Ben  sneakingly  crept  into  the  church  and  took  a  seat  in  a  corner 
near  the  stove.  Indeed  there  was  scarcely  another  seat  to  be  had, 
there  was  such  a  jam.  The  converts,  old  and  young,  were  especially 
anxious  to  sit  where  they  could  see  and  be  seen.  The  youngest  ap 
peared  to  be  the  most  curious  and  presumptuous. 


112  ENDURA  :     OR, 

A  hymn  was  usually  sung  at  the  beginning  of  the  service,  after 
which  a  prayer  was  offered,  and  then  if  it  was  a  conference  meeting 
one  and  all  were  allowed  to  relate  their  experience  and  conversion  ; 
and  it  was  sometimes  very  late  before  the  meeting  concluded.  If  there 
was  to  be  preaching,  the  minister  would  occupy  the  evening  from 
early  candle  lighting  until  eight  or  nine  o'clock,  when  he  would  say 
he  could  say  much  more,  but  as  there  were  a  number  of  brethren  and 
sisters  to  hear  from  he  would  give  way,  then  he  would  sit  down. 

Usually  when  the  preacher  took  his  seat  the  invitation  would  be 
given  out  to  the  brethren  and  sisters  who  wished  to  bear  testimony  for 
their  Lord  and  Saviour  for  them  to  improve  the  time.  At  first  one  or 
two  of  the  deacons  would  get  up  and  say  something,  and  then  an  old 
woman  and  then  one  of  the  young  converts,  and  finally  they  could 
scarcely  wait  one  for  another.  Even  little  children  would  pop  up  here 
and  there  and  pipe  out  their  experience  in  their  own  peculiar  dialect. 

Some  of  the  converts  were  children  too  young  to  say  ten  words  in 
telligibly.  So  the  good  man  who  had  the  meeting  in  charge  would 
wait  until  all  had  spoken  who  could  speak,  and  the  hour  was  getting 
late,  when  he  would  give  them  all  an  opportunity  to  be  heard  by  re 
questing  all  who  felt  that  they  had  been  converted  to  simply  rise  and 
say  so,  when  the  little  heads  would  pop  up  like  turkeys  in  a  meadow 
just  to  say,  "  I'm  converted "  and  then  subside.  And  then  another 
would  rise,  say  the  same  thing,  and  sit  down  immediately,  until  every 
young  convert  had  his  or  her  say. 

The  night  Ben  Blunt  went,  the  meeting  was  a  more  than  ordinary 
occasion.  Elder  Swan  was  to  preach  and  one  or  two  other  celebrities 
were  to  be  present,  which  was  a  great  inducement  for  the  people  to 
turn  out. 

The  crowd  was  tremendous ;  chairs  and  benches  were  placed  in 
the  aisles  and  many  were  unable  to  get  seats.  Time  was  up  and  many 
were  getting  impatient  for  the  meeting  to  begin,  but  Elder  Swan  had 
not  arrived. 

Directly  there  was  a  stir  about  the  front  of  the  church  which  rap 
idly  spread  over  the  whole  room,  all  turning  to  look  toward  the 
entrance  where  Brother  Swan  soon  made  his  appearance  in  seemingly 
great  haste,  pressing  his  way  through  the  crowd  as  best  he  could.  At 
last  he  reached  the  platform,  stepping  upon  which  he  threw  off  his 


THREE    GENERATIONS.  ,  113 

coat,  flung  it  upon  the  seat  back  of  the  desk,  walked  around  upon  the 
other  side,  stepped  down  into  the  aisle  again,  pushed  up  his  shirt 
sleeves,  ran  his  fingers  through  his  hair  and  abruptly  said :  "  You  are 
all  going  to  Hell !"  At  which  a  dozen  "amens"  were  distinctly  heard. 
Ben  Blunt  did  not  much  relish  the  information  as  he  had  a  little  fore 
taste  of  the  place  by  being  in  close  proximity  to  a  red-hot  stove, 
from  which  position  it  was  well  nigh  impossible  for  him  to  escape ; 
and  when  Brother  Swan  announced  the  direction  in  which  all  present 

were  tending,  Ben  said  it  could  not  be  a  d n  sight  hotter  than  where 

he  was  sitting,  which  might  have  called  forth  another  amen  but  they 
were  all  too  intent  in  listening  to  Elder  Swan,  who  went  on  to  say 
that  all  were  naturally  wicked  and  prone  to  evil  as  the  sparks  fly  up 
ward.  "But,"  said  he,  "Jesus  Christ  came  into  the  world  to  save 
sinners,"  and  he  was  glad  to  say  that  all  present  could  be  saved  by 
looking  to  Christ.  As  Moses  lifted  up  the  serpent  in  the  wilderness, 
even  so  shall  the  son  of  man  be  lifted  up. 

The  reverend  gentleman  did  not  stop  to  explain  how  or  why  Moses 
lifted  up  the  serpent,  but  the  fact  that  he  did  lift  one  up  was  sufficient; 
and  so  the  son  of  man  was  to  be  lifted  up.  Christ  knowing  the  wick 
edness  of  the  world,  offered  himself  to  save  the  world  and  through  his 
atonement  we  could  be  freed. 

After  preaching  a  good  sprightly  sermon,  the  good  man  sat  down 
in  a  reeking  perspiration,  and  Ben  Blunt  tried  to  get  out.  He  had 
visited  a  rum  mill  just  before  entering  the  church  and  charged  himself 
with  a  good  four-fingers  of  New  England  rum  to  keep  out  the  cold,  and 
the  hot  stove  made  it  necessary,  in  his  opinion,  to  have  just  about  as 
much  more  to  counteract  the  heat  of  the  stove.  One  of  the  brethren 
noticing  his  anxiety  to  get  out,  thought  it  best  to  corner  him  and  talk 
to  him  about  the  welfare  of  his  soul. 

Ben  said  he  didn't  know  nothin'  about  it,  but  if  he  would  let  him 

out  of  that  d d  hot  hole,  he'd  be  d d  if  he  would  catch  him 

there  again. 

This  was  exactly  the  opinion  of  the  brother,  so  he  determined  to 
make  hay  while  the  sun  shone.  He  immediately  knelt  down  and 
began  to  pray  for  the  conviction  and  conversion  of  the  poor  sinner 
whose  sins  were  many.  He  said  though  his  sins  were  as  scarlet,  Christ 
would  make  them  white  as  snow.  Great  drops  of  sweat  rolled  down 


114  ENDURA  :    OR, 

Ben's  cheeks  until  he  could  stand  it  no  longer,  when  he  said  to  the 
laboring  brother  that  he  wished  he  would  stop  that  fooling,  when 
came  the  ever  ready  response — Amen.  Ben  arose  and  rushing  past 
the  kneeling  brother,  he  clambered  over  the  benches  until  he  reached 
the  door.  It  was  as  cold  outside  as  it  was  hot  within.  The  ground 
was  frozen  and  ice  everywhere  in  the  depressions.  As  Ben  reached 
the  outside  he  had  scarcely  gone  a  dozen  steps  when  he  stepped  into 
one  of  those  holes  where  the  water  had  settled  and  frozen  over.  He 
slipped  and  fell  and  broke  his  leg.  His  screams  and  groans  soon 
brought  assistance,  he  was  taken  home  and  the  doctor  sent  for. 
The  limb  was  set  and  the  poor  fellow  made  as  comfortable  as  pos 
sible.  The  enthusiasts  went  and  prayed  with  him  and  told  him  it 
was  a  judgment  sent  upon  him  for  his  wickedness,  and  especially  for 
his  turning  a  deaf  ear  to  the  good  brother's  prayer.  Poor  Ben  could 
not  get  away,  and  as  constant  dropping  wears  a  stone,  Ben  was  worn 
out,  and  at  last  apparently  he  was  convinced  of  his  wickedness  and 
concluded  to  turn  Christian,  when  he  was  overcome  with  congratula 
tions;  which  showed  plainly  that  there  was  more  rejoicing  over  the 
one  lost  sheep  which  had  been  found,  than  there  was  over  the  ninety 
and  nine  which  had  never  strayed  from  the  fold. 

Brother  Ephraim  Spooner  was  one  of  the  visiting  revivalists  on  ac 
count  of  his  great  zeal  in  the  good  cause.  Brother  Spooner  was  a 
poor  man,  and  went  forth  without  scrip  or  purse ;  neither  took  he 
two  coats,  "for, "said  he,  "the  Lord  will  provide";  and  somehow 
he  demonstrated  the  truth  of  his  assertion,  for  really  he  never  seemed 
to  have  better  fare,  or  to  be  more  warmly  clad,  and  yet  like  the  lilies 
of  the  field  he  toiled  not,  neither  did  he  spin,  but  Solomon  himself 
could  scarcely  have  been  better  arrayed. 

Elder  Knocks,  of  course,  took  an  active  part  in  the  good  work, 
and  knowing  the  great  difficulty  the  brethren  had  in  getting  accom 
modation  he  invited  two  of  them  to  his  own  house  to  remain  during 
their  stay  in  the  village.  Of  course  he  gave  up  his  own  bed  and 
with  his  wife  slept  upon  a  straw  tick  upon  the  floor,  with  what  cover 
ings  there  might  be  found,  including  dresses,  cloaks,  etc.  Notwith 
standing  all  the  privations  and  inconveniences,  Brother  Spooner  was 
still  unprovided  for. 

General  Ivers  had  not  yet  been  alloted  his  pro  rata  of  the  influx,  so 


THREE    GENERATIONS.  115 

of  course,  he  was  asked  to  give  Brother  Spooner   accommodations, 
which  he  readily  consented  to  do. 

It  was  suspicioned  that  the  good  brother  neglected  to  provide  for 
himself  with  the  hope  and  expectation  of  this  very  contingency.  He 
was  cordially  welcomed  by  the  General  and  his  wife,  but  Endura  ap 
peared  to  avoid  him.  Very  naturally  he  inquired  of  Mrs.  Ivers  for 
her  daughter,  and  hoped  she  was  well;  he  said  he  had  taken  a  great 
interest  in  her  at  his  former  visit,  and  he  hoped  she  had  profited  by 
his  advice,  and  sought  her  Saviour.  Mrs.  Ivers  told  him  that  she  was 
absent  from  home  with  a  young  friend,  where  she  frequently  stayed  all 
night,  and  occasionally  for  two  or  three  days;  she  said  she  presumed 
that  he  would  meet  her,  as  she  was  stopping  in  the  village,  which  ap 
peared  to  interest  him  very  much.  The  meetings  were  held  twice 
each  day,  morning  and  evening,  but  the  evening  service  was  usually 
the  most  eventful.  The  next  day  before  the  n  o'clock  service, 
Brother  Spooner  learned  from  Mrs.  Ivers  that  Endura  was  stopping 
at  Mr.  Haywood's.  Immediately  after  the  meeting  was  out  he  in 
quired  for  Mr.  Haywood's,  whither  he  bent  his  steps. 

Going  up  to  the  door  he  knocked,  and  was  admitted  by  the  lady 
of  the  house,  after  enquiring  if  Miss  Ivers  was  stopping  there,  and 
being  answered  in  the  affirmative. 

Of  course  there  was  no  alternative  but  for  Endura  to  meet  him, 
unless  she  should  be  really  rude.  He  appeared  delighted  to  meet  her 
again,  and  told  her  he  hoped  she  had  chosen  the  good  part.  She 
said  as  little  as  possible,  and  after  a  time  asked  to  be  excused  that 
she  might  call  Mrs.  Haywood,  and  her  young  friend,  Miss  Haywood. 
Mr.  Haywood  and  Rodney  were  not  in.  Soon  Mrs.  H.  and  Clara 
came  in  and  were  introduced.  Brother  Spooner  was  exceedingly 
happy  to  make  the  acquaintance  of  Mrs.  H.  and  her  daughter,  and 
he  would  be  pleased  to  meet  Mr.  Haywood  during  his  stay  in  the 
village,  which  must  necessarily  be  brief,  he  said,  as  he  had  calls  else 
where,  which  it  was  his  duty  to  make.  Mrs.  H.  said  she  expected 
her  husband  every  minute,  "and  no  doubt,"  said  she,  "he  will  be 
pleased  to  see  you." 

The  conversation  continued  for  sometime  longer  when  Mr.  Hay- 
wood  came,  and  before  supper  Rodney  came  in  from  a  long  ride  on 
horseback.  Brother  Spooner  had  not  eaten  anything  since  breakfast, 


Il6  ENDURA  :     OR, 

and  it  did  not  require  a  pressing  invitation  for  him  to  remain  and 
sup  with  them. 

When  they  gathered  around  the  table  he  had  not  received  an  invi 
tation  to  say  grace,  and  he  was  apparently  not  a  little  embarrassed, 
so  much  so  that  Mr.  Haywood  observed  it,  and  immediately  gave  his 
permission;  whereupon  the  good  brother  made  a  long  prayer,  and 
wound  up  with  asking  God  to  bless  the  household,  and  the  young  lady 
who  was  a  sojourner  with  them.  The  prayer  was  somewhat  shorter 
than  it  would  have  been,  had  he  not  been  very  hungry.  When  the 
time  came  for  the  evening  service  to  begin  Brother  Spooner  said  he 
supposed  they  would  all  attend,  when  for  the  first  time  he  learned 
that  they  had  not  attended  any  of  the  meetings,  which  troubled  him 
sorely.  He  could  do  no  less  than  thank  them  for  their  hospitality, 
and  took  his  departure.  « 

He  was  overtaken  on  his  way  to  the  church  by  one  of  the  brethren 
who  asked  him  with  whom  he  was  stopping.  He  said  he  stayed  with 
Brother  Ivers,  but  he  had  just  taken  supper  with  Mr.  Haywood  in  the 
village.  His  friend  was  thunderstruck,  exclaiming: 

"  Is  it  possible  !     Do  you  know  who  this  man,  Haywood,  is  ?" 

He  answered  that  he  did  not,  farther  than  that  he  was  a  gentleman 
and  doubtless  a  Christian,  notwithstanding,  he  said,  that  they  had 
not  attended  any  of  the  meetings.  His  friend  threw  a  shell  into 
camp  by  informing  him  that  Mr.  Haywood  was  none  other  than  the 
notorious  infidel  of  which  he  had  doubtless  heard. 

Brother  Spooner  said  he  had  prayed  with  him,  and  he  hoped  the 
lesson  would  sink  deep  into  his  heart. 

There  were  others  in  the  village  who  had  been  informed  that 
Brother  Spooner  had  gone  to  the  house  of  that  wicked  man,  and  they 
felt  that  it  was  as  much  as  his  life  was  worth  for  him  to  venture  into 
that  lions'  den. 

The  news  spread  like  wild-fire,  that  one  of  the  brethren  had  been 
seen  to  enter  that  marked  dwelling. 

That  evening  many  prayers  went  up  for  his  protection  with  a  little 
information  to  the  Almighty  that  there  was  a  great  sinner  within  their 
gates.  .  They  prayed  that  fire  might  be  sent  from  heaven  to  burn  up 
the  wicked  and  purify  the  earth.  Evidently  they  had  not  faith  for  the 
fire  did  not  descend,  and  that  vile  sinner  escaped  without  the  smell  of 


THREE    GENERATIONS. 


117 


fire  upon  his  garments,  perhaps,  some  of  the  more  ignorant  and  su 
perstitious  believed  that  the  punishment  was  only  postponed. 

A  revival  of  religion  in  a  New  England  village,  half  a  century  ago, 
stunned  the  community  from  center  to  circumference.  It  not  unfre- 
quently  swept  them  all  in.  Old  and  young  became  first  interested, 
then  excited,  and  then,  as  they  said,  convicted  and  finally,  converted. 
It  was  thought  to  be  almost  equivalent  to  conversion  if  an  outsider 
attended  one  of  their  meetings.  If  he  attended  twice  he  was  ap 
proached  by  one  of  the  enthusiastic  converts,  and  pressed  to  make  a 
confession.  It  was  customary  for  them  to  clear  the  front  seats  as  soon 
as  the  sermon  was  through,  to  make  room  for  the  anxious — they  were 
called  the  anxious  seats — and  those  who  felt  the  need  of  the  prayers 
of  the  congregation  would  go  forward,  some  voluntarily,  and  more 
after  much  pressing  and  persuasion.  When  all  who  desired  to  be 
prayed  for  went  forward,  the  praying  began  in  good  earnest. 

Mostly  short  prayers  were  made,  for  those  who  affected  them  could 
not  find  words  to  fill  in  the  time  with,  that  gave  frequent  oppor 
tunities  for  them  to  sing  a  verse  which  was  done  after  every  prayer, 
or  when  one  of  the  brothers  or  sisters  spoke.  Usually  some  popular 
air  was  adjusted  to  lines  suitable  for  the  occasion,  and  all  joined  in 
with  more  parts  than  the  greatest  artists  ever  dreamed  of.  The  chief 
requisite  was  good  lungs,  and  strong  oaken  pins  prevented  the  roof 
from  rising. 


nS  ENDURA:    OR, 


CHAPTER  XV. 

STAR  PERFORMERS. 

I  pray  thee,  leave  me  to  myself  to-night; 

For  I  have  need  of  many  orisons, 

To  move  the  heavens  to  smile  upon  my  state; 

Which  well  thou  know'st,  is  cross  and  full  of  sin. 

— Romeo  and  Juliet. 

THE  night  after  the  one  on  which  Brother  Spooner  took  tea  with 
the  Hay  woods  there  was  to  be  another  important  event.  Two 
colored  men  were  to  preach  and  sing,  and  conduct  the  services.  One 
was  a  full-blooded  negro  who  could  not  read  a  single  word,  but  whose 
memory  was  really  very  wonderful.  He  could  recite  whole  chapters 
without  missing  a  word,  and  he  could  sing  in  his  peculiar  style 
almost  every  conference  hymn.  The  other  colored  brother  was  almost 
a  full-blooded  Indian,  with  some  little  education,  and  a  wonderful 
amount  of  assurance  ;  both  were  really  star  performers,  and  when 
they  put  in  an  appearance  together  the  houses  that  they  drew  were 
immense. 

The  Haywoods,  hearing  that  the  two  celebrated  preachers  were  to 
conduct  the  services,  concluded  to  go,  and  Endura  Ivers  was  to  ac 
company  them.  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Haywood  walked  together,  and  Rod 
ney  walked  with  Miss  Ivers  and  his  sister. 

When  the  quintet  entered  the  church  they  created  quite  a  sensa 
tion,  the  house  was  full,  and  the  whole  congregation  turned  complete 
ly  around,  as  though  some  royal  personages  had  entered.  They 
made  their  way  toward  the  center  of  the  building  where  they  found 
seats  for  a  part  of  the  party,  Rodney  and  Miss  Ivers  were  accommo 
dated  elsewhere. 

The  services  began  by  singing.  One  famous  tune  which  was  sung 
upon  every  occasion  with  words  which  were  elongated  to  adjust  them 
selves  to  it  was  called  "  Canaan,"  but  somehow  it  was  drawn  out  into 

"O  Cane-e-ann,  bright  Cane-e-ann! 
I  am  bound  for  the  land  of  Cane-e-ann. 


THREE    GENERATIONS.  119 

0  Carie-e-ann,  O  Cane-e-ann,  it  is  my  happy  home  ! 

1  am  bound  for  the  land  of  Cane-e-ann. 
If  you  get  there  before  I  do, 

I  am  bound  for  the  land  of  Cane-e-ann; 

Look  out  for  me,  I'm  coming  too, 

I  am  bound  for  the  land  of  Cane-e-ann." 

The  words  were  easily  learned,  and  as  for  the  tune  it  did  not  much 
matter,  for  the  words  did  not  fit  anything  else.  At  first  the  leader 
would  start  off,  and  after  that  everybody  tried  to  lead,  and  he  who 
came  out  ahead  thought  himself  the  best  fellow.  There  was  a  regu 
lar  tramping  of  feet,  keeping  time  until  the  building  would  tremble 
which  seemed  to  enthuse  and  inspire  the  young  converts. 

Each  fresh  attack  upon  the  refrain  would  bring  forward  others  to 
be  prayed  for  who  insisted  that  they  were  the  greatest  sinners  that 
ever  lived,  and  the  good  brethren  all  said  Amen,  which  seemed  to 
clinch  it.  The  evening  was  fast  wearing  away,  of  which  the  congre 
gation  were  admonished  by  a  brother's  breaking  out  with  the  hymn, 
the  first  line  of  which  ran: 

"We  are  wearing  away  like  a  long  summer  day." 

Possibly,  unless  they  were  all  too  sleepy,  another  anxious  one  might 
come  forward,  but  it  was  getting  late  and  Mr.  Haywood  and  his  fam 
ily  did  not  appear  to  be  seriously  affected.  He  was  waited  upon  by 
one  more  daring  and  fool-hardy  than  the  rest,  and  though  there  was 
no  sign  of  his  satanic  majesty  over  his  shoulder,  or  at  his  elbow,  yet, 
doubtless,  he  imagined  he  had  run  a  great  risk  in  coming  in  such 
close  contact  with  one  of  his — the  devil's — most  trusty  servants  ;  an 
other  waited  upon  Rodney,  he  told  the  man,  who  was  one  of  their 
neighbors,  that  he  did  not  come  to  take  part  but  simply  to  listen. 

Brother  Spooner  felt  it  his  duty  to  go  and  labor  with  Endura. 
Coming  near  where  she  sat  he  requested  the  person  who  sat  next  to 
her  to  let  him  take  the  seat,  which,  the  party  being  a  good  Christian,  he 
readily  consented  to  do.  Brother  Spooner  then  sat  down  and  taking 
her  hand  pressed  it  the  least  bit  as  he  drew  her  gently  towards  him. 
He  talked  to  her  in  a  very  low  tone  of  voice  for  a  short  time,  which 
did  not  seem  to  have  the  desired  effect,  when  he  knelt  down  and  be 
gan  to  pray,  when  she  whispered  to  Rodney,  upon  which  he  arose  very 
quietly  and  went  out,  she  following  him.  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Haywood 
and  Clara  observing  this  went  out  also,  and  left  brother  Spooner  labor- 


I  2O  ENDURA  :    OR, 

ing  with  all  his  might,  physically  and  mentally,  for  the  young  woman 
who  did  not  realize  the  brink  upon  which  she  was  standing.  That 
same  young  woman,  was  comfortably  fixed  at  Mr.  Haywood's  before 
the  good  brother  opened  his  eyes  enough  to  see  that  he  had  been 
praying  to  an  empty  bench.  He  arose  angry  and  mortified. 

Of  course  the  blame  was  all  laid  to  that  abandoned  son  of  a  wicked 
father.  After  the  religious  meeting  was  over,  some  of  the  more  promi 
nent  men  of  the  village  were  invited  to  remain,  as  a  matter  of  consid 
erable  importance  was  to  be  acted  upon.  The  last  one  having  gone 
out  into  the  cold  who  was  not  allowed  to  be  present  during  the  busi 
ness  meeting,  the  dozen  or  so  who  remained  were  called  to  order  and 
the  object  of  the  meeting  explained. 

A  sort  of  preamble  was  read,  beginning  with  : 

WHEREAS,  Believing  it  to  be  our  duty  as  God-fearing  beings  to  rid 
the  community  of  certain  wicked  and  ungodly  persons  who  have  come 
to  live  among  us,  swallowing  up  our  substance  and  contaminating  our 
people,  spreading  infidelity  and  unbelief  broadcast,  and  sowing  the 
seeds  of  wickedness  throughout  the  land,  now,  therefore,  be  it 

Resolved,  That  we  take  steps  immediately  to  get  rid  of  a  certain 
man  calling  himself  George  Haywood,  with  his  family,  who  are 
almost  if  not  quite  as  wicked  as  himself,  who  have  set  all  our  laws, 
religious  and  moral,  at  defiance  ;  even  coming  together  into  the  House 
of  God,  and  beneath  the  very  sanctuary  have  scoffed  and  scorned  at 
religion,  and  grossly  insulted  a  brother  who  was  doing  his  duty,  and 
also  tried  in  every  way  to  bring  religion  into  disrepute. 

After  many  speeches  pro  and  con,  and  some  angry  words  towards 
any  one  who  dared  say  anything  in  favor  of  Mr.  Haywood,  a  com 
mittee  was  appointed  to  wait  upon  him  and  give  him  notice  of  the 
purport  of  the  meeting,  requesting  him  to  leave  the  place  immediately. 

Three  of  the  brethren,  two  of  them  neighbors  of  Mr.  Haywood, 
were  the  committee  who  were  appointed. 

Brother  Spooner  was  strongly  in  favor  of  using  forcible  means  to 
get  rid  of  the  obnoxious  citizen,  if  gentle  persuasion  failed  to  bring 
about  the  result. 

Elder  Knocks  did  not  like  to  go  to  extremes,  and  Mr.  Cribbe  posi 
tively  refused  to  do  any  thing  against  Mr.  Haywood,  for  which  refusal 
he  was  lashed  soundly  with  the  tongue  of  more  than  one  brother. 
Early  the  next  morning  Mr.  Cribbe  sent  word  to  Mr.  Haywood  to 
come  to  his  house,  which  was  just  out  of  the  village. 


THREE    GENERATIONS.  12  I 

Mr.  Haywood  knew  that  something  was  up,  as  soon  as  the  word 
reached  him ;  and,  setting  off  immediately,  he  was  soon  at  Mr. 
Cribbe's  house,  where  he  was  cordially  met  by  the  family. 

Soon  Mr.  Cribbe  came  in  and  made  known  the  whole  plot,  at 
which  Mr.  Haywood  smiled  and  thanked  him  ;  at  the  same  time,  said 
most  positively  that  he  did  not  propose  to  be  frightened  out  of  town, 
and,  if  they  attempted  force,  he  would  be  prepared  for  them. 

When  he  returned  to  his  own  house,  he  met  two  of  the  committee 
at  the  door.  It  appeared  that  they  had  knocked  at  the  door,  which 
was  opened  by  Mrs.  Haywood,  who  invited  them  in.  They  declined 
to  enter,  but  said  they  were  a  committee  appointed  to  see  Mr.  Hay- 
wood  on  business,  upon  which  she  told  them  that  she  expected  him 
back  very  soon,  so  they  said  they  would  wait  for  a  short  time,  as  they 
wished  to  see  him  that  day.  It  was  not  long  before  the  gentleman 
they  were  in  quest  of  appeared,  and  greeted  them  civilly,  if  not 
cordially. 

They  soon  made  known  their  errand,  and  waited  to  hear  what  he 
would  have  to  say.  At  first  he  said  he  was  astonished  at  the  action 
which  had  been  taken,  and  he  could  not  be  made  to  believe  that  it 
had  been  done  in  a  Christian  spirit ;  and  he  felt  that,  upon  second 
thought,  they  would  all  make  haste  to  undo  such  action,  so  unjust  and 
so  ungenerous. 

The  two  men  who  waited  upon  Mr.  Haywood  were  strong  Secta 
rians  ;  one  was  named  Cleaver,  and  the  other  Burnham. 

Brother  Cleaver  spoke  first,  and  said  it  was  not  a  duty  of  his 
seeking,  and  he  presumed  it  was  as  distasteful  to  Brother  Burnham 
to  be  called  upon  to  act  in  so  important  a  matter.  But  at  a  meeting  of 
the  good  citizens,  members  of  the  church  and  God-fearing  people,  it 
was  deemed  for  the  best  interest  of  the  community  for  him  (Mr.  Hay- 
wood)  to  leave  the  place. 

Mr.  Haywood  demanded  that  they  make  a  formal  accusation, 
which  they  declined  to  do.  He  insisted  that  he  had  been  a  good, 
law-abiding  citizen,  paying  his  taxes  and  fulfilling  his  duty  as  such, 
and  he  should  decline  making  any  move  until  it  was  made  apparent 
that  he  had  done  something  for  which  he  should  be  punished. 
Brother  Cleaver  said  he  was  accused  of  being  an  infidel,  and  as  such, 
dangerous  to  the  good  morals  of  the  village. 


122  ENDURA  I    OR, 

Mr.  Haywood  said  he  was  surprised  to  hear  such  an  absurd 
accusation  come  from  a  man  he  had  hitherto  believed  to  be  so  intelli 
gent  and  fair-minded. 

The  allusion  to  his  intelligence  rather  nattered  Brother  Cleaver,  and 
apparently  stopped  his  mouth. 

But  Brother  Burnham  came  to  the  rescue,  and  asked  him  if  he  did 
not  attend  the  meeting  the  night  before  for  the  purpose  of  derision, 
and  that  they  might  disturb  them  in  their  devotions.  Mr.  Haywood 
seemed  to  comprehend  the  situation,  and  explained  why  he  went  out 
of  the  church  when  he  did ;  and  added,  as  a  proof  that  he  did  not 
wish  to  disturb  them  in  their  exercises,  that  he  went  so  quietly  that 
scarcely  a  dozen  of  the  congregation  knew  when  he  went. 

The  committee  acknowledged  that  it  was  so,  as  neither  of  them 
knew  when  he  went  out  with  his  family. 

Mr.  Haywood  then  asked  them  how  they  could  expect  him  to  go 
away  and  leave  his  property. 

They  informed  him  that  that  matter  had  not  been  considered  by 
those  who  had  appointed  them  as  the  committee,  but  that,  no  doubt, 
some  arrangement  would  be  made  to  meet  the  emergency.  Mr. 
Haywood  finally  told  them  that  as  much  as  he  would  have  liked  to 
remain  and  make  his  home  among  them,  had  they  manifested  the 
least  desire  to  have  him  do  so,  he  would  be  only  too  glad  to  leave, 
since  he  felt  sure  they  wished  it,  and  he  would  make  a  proposition  to 
leave,  if  they  could  find  a  purchaser  for  his  property  at  a  fair  valua 
tion,  which  they  said  they  would  make  an  effort  to  do.  And  so  the 
parley  ended,  just  where  it  began,  with  this  advantage  to  Mr.  Hay- 
wood  :  It  had  opened  his  eyes,  and  he  was  made  to  see  and  better 
understand  the  community  in  which  he  lived. 

Endura  Ivers  was  not  desirous  of  meeting  Brother  Spooner,  after 
leaving  him  so  unceremoniously  in  the  church.  Fearing  that  he 
might  possibly  call  upon  her  again  if  she  remained  in  the  village, 
she  told  her  friends  the  next  morning  that  she  must  go  home,  and 
she  could  not  be  prevailed  upon  to  change  her  mind.  So  when 
dinner  was  over,  Rodney  drove  around,  with  his  beautiful  new  cutter 
and  his  favorite  horse,  to  take  her  home. 

Her  friend  Clara  was  sorry  to  have  her  go,  but  upon  her  promising 
to  come  again  soon,  they  kissed  and  parted. 


THREE    GENERATIONS.  123 

What  New  Englander,  who  spent  his  youth  and  early  manhood  in 
that  land  of  extremes,  that  does  not  remember  the  time  when  he 
took  his  lady-love  sleigh-riding  ?  We  will  suppose  it  was  the  first 
time  he  had  been  vouchsafed  the  pleasure. 

The  very  best  turnout  that  could  be  had  was  secured,  the  brighest 
and  most  musical  bells,  the  warmest  and  prettiest  robes,  in  short, 
everything  was  the  best  that  could  be  procured  for  love  or  money, 
at  least  for  the  small  amount  of  money  usually  at  the  command  of  a 
New  England  youth  at  the  time  of  which  we  write,  or  for  that  matter 


t> 
even  now. 


The  young  lady  was  warmly  clad,  and  as  for  the  young  man  it  did 
not  much  matter,  as  love  was  a  great  equalizer  of  his  youthful  blood. 
His  ears  and  nose  might  have  been  frost-bitten,  he  would  have  scarce 
ly  heeded  it,  as  he  held  the  reins  over  the  impatient  horse,  who 
seemed  as  anxious  to  go  as  the  youth  was  to  have  him ;  and  who  ap 
peared  to  enjoy  the  merry  jingling  of  the  bells  about  as  well  as  did 
his  driver.  The  soft,  sweet,  rosy  girl  sat  by  his  side  in  the  very  ec 
stasy  of  delight,  as  the  polished  runner  glided  along  the  icy  road. 
Ever  and  anon  the  crisp  snow  would  send  up  a  piercing  shriek  as  it 
crumbled  into  the  path  beneath  the  iron  shoe.  On  they  go,  up  hill 
and  down,  by  this  and  that  dwelling  through  the  forests,  across  the 
plain,  over  the  frozen  river  safe  and  secure.  Too — too  soon,  they 
reach  their  journeys  end.  A  happy  greeting  and  a  blazing  fire  upon 
the  hearth  soon  makes  them  content,  but  they  are  almost  impatient  to 
be  speeding  back  upon  the  way  over  which  they  had  just  come. 

Often  parties  of  four  or  five  sleighs  would  start  out  together,  and  if 
the  sensation  was  not  the  same  the  fun  was  all  the  greater.  Sleighing 
is  really  the  great  pleasure  of  a  New  England  winter,  and  he  who  has 
not  taken  a  sleigh-ride  can  scarcely  form  an  idea  of  such  an  intoxicat 
ing  and  exhilarating  enjoyment. 

Rodney  Haywood  was  the  envy  of  the  village,  not  alone  for  the 
good  things  he  was  able  to  have  and  enjoy,  but  for  being,  as  was  sup 
posed,  the  accepted  lover  of  the  sweetest  and  prettiest  girl  in  the 
country  far  or  near.  He  never  went  to  ride  that  there  was  not  talk 
made  about  it,  and  unpleasant  or  envious  remarks  made  regarding 
him  or  his  companion,  whoever  it  happened  to  be,  most  of  whom 
were  from  the  city,  and  unbeknown  to  the  village  gossips.  When  his 


I24  ENDURA  :     OR, 

sleigh  came  around  in  front  of  his  home  and  a  young  lady  got  in,  it 
was  not  long  before  nearly  everybody  in  the  village  was  made  ac 
quainted  with  the  fact.  Upon  this  last  occasion  it  flew  like  wild-fire, 
Rodney  Haywood  had  gone  off  in  his  sleigh  with  Endura  Ivers. 

To  many  it  was  a  matter  of  such  slight  importance  that  it  was  not 
spoken  of,  to  others  it  furnished  a  theme  for  an  evening's  gossip.  Lit 
tle  heeded  our  hero  and  his  lovely  charge  as  they  sped  away. 

The  drive  to  Endura's  home  never  appeared  so  short,  and  by  the 
time  Rodney  and  Dura  were  in  the  house  the  hired  man  had  cared 
for  the  horse  and  sleigh;  the  latter  was  left  under  the  shed  while  the 
horse  was  unharnessed  and  put  in  the  stable,  not  before  he  had  been 
well  cared  for  and  blanketed,  however. 

Gen.  Ivers  had  just  received  a  letter  from  Bernard  saying  that  they 
might  expect  him  that  night  or  the  day  following,  so  the  General  pre 
vailed  upon  Rodney  to  remain  until  the  stage  came  in,  which  was 
rather  late,  and  finally  as  it  was  so  late,  he  was  persuaded  to  stay  all 
night.  There  was  a  rousing  fire  in  the  parlor,  and  Rodney  and  En- 
dura  were  left  alone  to  enjoy  it. 

It  is  very  delightful  and  exhilarating  to  glide  along  over  a  smooth- 
frozen  road,  in  a  nice  comfortable  cutter,  with  an  agreeable  companion, 
especially  if  it  be  a  young  man  riding  for  the  first  time  with  the  idol 
of  his  heart.  But  the  average  lover  would  prefer  the  cozy  parlor, 
with  the  blazing  fire  and  luxurious  furniture,  to  even  a  glorious 
sleigh-ride.  As  much  as  Rodney  Haywood  enjoyed  his  ride,  his 
tete-a-tete  with  the  lovely  Endura  in  the  pretty  little  parlor  was 
infinitely  preferable. 

Endura  appeared  quite  happy  and  expressed  satisfaction  at  being 
at  home,  and  reverted,  with  apparent  disgust  to  the  ordeal  through 
which  she  had  passed  in  the  church  in  the  village. 

Rodney  condemned  yery  strongly  the  insult,  as  he  called  it,  which 
Brother  Spooner  offered  to  herself.  He  said  he  blamed  himself,  in  a 
measure,  for  what  had  happened,  as  he  had  proposed  that  they  should 
attend  the  meeting.  Being,  as  he  said,  curious  to  hear  and  see  the 
performance,  Endura  assured  him  that  she  was  no  less  anxious  to 
attend  the  meeting  than  himself,  and  she  thought  it  very  kind  of  him 
to  take  her ;  and,  notwishstanding  the  result,  she  was  glad  they  went. 

They  were  seated  together  upon  the  sofa.     There  was  no  one  to 


THREE    GENERATIONS.  125 

molest  or  make  afraid.  He  took  her  hand  gently  in  his  own,  and 
looked  her  in  the  face.  Not  a  word  was  spoken  for  the  space  of  at 
least  one  minute,  during  which  time  his  brain  was  active  in  forming  a 
sentence  which  would  best  express  what  he  felt.  Words  came  at 
length;  words  which  fell  upon  her  hungry  soul  like  manna.  She 
listened,  spell-bound,  to  all  that  he  had  to  say,  but  essayed  not  an 
answer. 

"My  dear  Endura,"  said  he,  "I  ought  to  be  happy.  I  have  all 
that  a  young  man  has  a'  right  to  expect — a  happy  home  and  kind 
friends.  Among  the  latter,  I  have  ever  been  proud  to  number  your 
dear  little  self.  From  the  time  we  met  as  children  until  the  present 
moment,  I  have  loved  you,  and  each  ye.ar  has  added  ardor  to  that 
love,  until  I  almost  worship  as  an  idol  that  which  I  loved  as  a  child." 

He  still  held  her  hand,  which  she  did  not  attempt  to  withdraw  from 
him,  but  he  was  sure  he  felt  a  gentle  pressure  in  response  to  his 
loving  words. 

He  continued  :  "  I  may  be  doing  wrong  in  making  this  declaration, 
knowing,  as  I  do,  the  difference  in  our  religious  training,  and  feeling 
that  it  may  be  just  possible  that  my  love  will  bode  you  evil,  knowing 
the  sentiment  that  exists  against  the  doctrine  taught  by  my  parents 
since  infancy.  You  are,  no  doubt,  aware  that  a  committee  of  church 
members  waited  upon  father  this  very  day.  But  you  do  not  know 
the  purport  of  that  meeting.  I  will  tell  you,  and  you  will  then  know 
the  position  in  which  you  place  yourself  by  associating  with  an 
ostracized  family/'' 

He  then  related  the  facts  as  they  occurred.  The  hand  of  Endura 
trembled  within  his,  and  when  he  ceased  speaking,  she  leaned  toward 
him  and  whispered: 

"  Why  should  we  care  ?  Must  we  be  denied  all  the  pleasures  of 
life  because  a  few  devotees  set  themselves  up  to  be  our  judges,  and 
to  say  what  we  may  or  may  not  do  ?" 

Rodney  replied,  saying  that  for  himself,  he  was  quite  indifferent  to 
what  their  opinion  might  be.  "But  for  you,  it  is  quite  another  affair; 
your  home  is  fixed  among  them,  and  your  happiness,  in  some 
measure,  depends  upon  the  good-will  of  your  neighbors,  with  whom 
you  are  compelled  to  associate,  more  or  less." 

Endura  asked  if  he  was  not  a  neighbor,  and  if  his  family  were  not 


126  ENDURA:   OR, 

friends  of  her  family  and  of  herself.  Friends  whose  place  could  not 
be  supplied  by  any  others.  And  since  it  had  come  to  the  point,  she 
should  no  longer  consider  them  friends,  who  had  forfeited  her  friend 
ship  by  the  outrages  committed  upon  his  family. 

Rodney  watched  her  closely,  and  when  she  spoke  of  the  insult 
which  his  father  had  received,  her  indignation  arose  to  the  highest 
pitch.  She  declared  that  if  that  was  religion,  she  did  not  wish  to  be 
a  Christian,  and  that  sooner  than  attend  their  meetings,  she  would 
stay  away  from  church  forever. 

Rodney  told  her  of  what  he  had  learned,  from  time  to  time,  of  their 
opinion  of  his  family,  and  especially  of  himself,  and  he  said  he  felt 
guilty  for  being  instrumental  in  making  a  breach  between  herself  and 
those  who  would  have  been  her  friends. 

"Away  with  such  friends,"  said  Endura.  "Am  I  to  turn  my  back 
upon  those  who  are  congenial  to  me?  Those  who  are  every  way 
worthy  to  be  my  friends  and  associates,  to  affiliate  with  those  who 
are  not  worthy  my  friendship?  Can  I  love  those  who  do  not  love 
me  ?  Those  who  try  to  embitter  my  life  ?  Those  who  pretend  to 
seek  my  future  good  by  making  me  miserable  here  ?  I  am  sick  of 
such  canting  hypocrisy.  Give  me  one  true  friend;  one  who  can 
increase  my  hope  in  the  future  by  a  foretaste  of  good  here.  For  one 
such,  I  would  abandon  all  who  are  but  the  semblance  of  friends  — 
who  do  not  know  how  to  be  what  they  would  have  you  believe  they 
are.  They  are  not  friends.  My  friends,  they  can  never  be!" 

Rodney  was  amazed,  he  had  never  heard  such  eloquence,  and  that 
from  his  timid  little  friend.  "Oh  !  Endura,"  he  exclaimed  "can  I  read 
aright?  Do  I  indeed  understand,  or  am  I  idiotic  or  blind?  Tell 
me  if  I  am  too  presuming.  I  have  said  I  loved,  do  love  you  !  Have 
told  you  why  it  might  be  better  that  we  part  forever,  and  yet  the  sel 
fish  knave  that  I  am — I  would  not  lose  you.  I  cannot  bear  to  think 
of  parting.  The  thought  maddens  me,  but  why  stay  to  be  your  curse, 
to  blight  your  young  life,  knowing  or  feeling  as  I  do,  what  the  end 
must  be.  I  know  I  am  not  bigoted,  but  the  thought  of  being  and 
associating  with  people  who  are  my  enemies  at  heart,  however  much 
they  may  try  to  have  me  believe  otherwise,  makes  me  question  my 
own  candor  and  honesty. 

"Must  I  be  deceitful  because  they  are  so?     Must  I  meet  fraud 


THREE    GENERATIONS.  127 

with  fraud  ?  Must  I  wear  a  lie  upon  my  face,  and  speak  it  with  my 
lips,  because  I  can  see  falsehood  and  deceit  written  upon  theirs? 
Can  they  not  see  it  as  well  upon  mine?  Must  I  hear  from  such  the 
condemnation  which  my  own  conscience  indorses  ;  that  which  tells 
me  I  may  do  you  a  wrong  and  make  myself  more  hateful  for  the 
doing?  I  may  lead  you  to  worship  false  gods,  instead  of  the  God  of 
your  father. 

"  Tell  me,  Endura,  have  you  no  fears  of  the  result  ?" 
"  No — no — Rodney,  I  cannot  believe  that  I  can  be  the  worse  for 
knowing  you.  It  is  true  our  religious  training  has  been  different,  but 
my  father  is  a  reasonable  man,  a  discreet  man.  Did  he  believe 
that  intimacy  with  your  family  would  contaminate  me,  he  would  have 
most  assuredly  discountenanced  it." 

"  No,  Endura,  do  not  say  my  family,  they  cannot  harm  you.  It  is 
I,  my  love,  and  what  may  come  of  it  is  what  may  make  us  both 
wretched.  You  have  never  told  me  you  loved  me.  Others  have 
done  as  much  as  yourself  to  make  me  feel  their  love,  but  not  one  has 
ever  filled  the  void  of  my  hungry  soul  which  you  have  done.  I  feel 
that  I  have  lacked  discretion,  andthat  I  have  been  imprudent.  Too 
rash  in  my  declaration,  but  I  would  not  call  back  one  word  that  I 
uttered  which  told  you  of  my  love,  and  so  I  drift  farther  and  farther 
from  soundings  into  that  ocean  which  is  unfathomable,  when  I  may 
be  drawn  into  the  dark  whirlpool,  and  where  my  rashness  may  draw 
you  as  well.  Endura,  I  cannot,  I  must  not !  I  will  go  out  into  the 
world  alone ;  you  shall  know  me  as  your  friend,  one  who  would  have 
loved  you  best  of  all." 

Endura  seemed  agitated,  and  nestling  close  beside  him  she  laid  her 
head  upon  his  shoulder,  and  wept  in  silence.  Rodney  put  his  arm 
around  her,  and  for  the  first  time  imprinted  a  kiss  upon  her  forehead. 
A  faint  sob  was  the  only  response,  and  for  a  time  he  too,  was  silent. 
She  broke  the  silence;  looking  up  with  tear-filled  eyes  she  said  : 

"  Oh,  Rodney,  must  I  tell  you  I  love  you  ?  Have  you  not  known 
it  from  the  first  ?  Have  I  hidden  my  love  so  well  that  you  have  not 
discovered  it  in  all  these  years  ?  You  talk  of  going  away  to  escape 
the  society  of  a  deceitful  and  bigoted  people ;  those  who  would 
slander  you  behind  your  back,  and  fawn  and  flatter  you  at  your  face. 
You  would  leave  me  with  such,  while  you  would  fly  from  them. 


128  ENDURA:  OR, 

Think  you  that  they  like    me  better  than    you ;  or   do  you  believe 
me  capable  of  sinking  to  their  level?" 

"  I  would  go  away,  Endura,  that  you  might  be  free  from  the  stigma 
of  associating  with  one  who  is  denied  admission  into  what  is  called 
your  best  society.  You  they  might  tolerate,  were  I  absent ;  at  least, 
if  it  were  known  that  I  could  not  come  near  to  influence  and  corrupt 
you,  and  through  you,  their  immaculate  society." 

"  Rodney,  when  you  talk  of  going  away,  a  great  shadow  seems  to 
settle  over  me.  Can  it  be  that  you  have  become  so  necessary  to  my 
happiness  ?  Or  is  it  ever  thus  when  one's  friends  go  from  us  ?  How 
often  have  I  felt  lonely  when  a  dear  friend  has  gone  from  me.  No 
matter  who  was  left  behind,  the  one  who  went  always  appeared  to  be 
the  one  who  should  have  remained.  When  Bernard  leaves  us  and 
goes  back  to  the  city,  I  feel  lonely  for  a  day  or  two  but  it  wears  off, 
because  I  feel  it  will  be  but  a  short  time  before  he  will  return  again, 
and  make  us  glad.  But  oh,  Rodney,  when  will  you  return,  if  you  go 
from  me  now  ?  Why  go  away  at  all  ?  " 

"  My  dear  girl,  it  is  impossible  for  me  to  look  into  the  future. 
I  can  not  tell  what  destiny  may  have  in  store  for  me.  But  there  is  a 
position  offered  me  at  the  south,  which  father  idvises  me  to  accept. 
The  agent  of  Haywood  &  Hanford,  at  New  Orleans,  has  resigned 
and  both  father  and  his  partner  seem  anxious  for  me  to  take  his 
place.  It  is  a  flattering  offer  and  nothing  would  please  me  better 
under  ordinary  circumstances,  but  the  very  thought  of  leaving  you 
both  distresses  and  pleases  me,  and  it  is  cheifly  for  your  sake,  that  I 
am  pleased  and  pained.  It  is  to  me  a  painful  satisfaction  to  leave 
you,  that  you  may  be  free,  and  not  be  obliged  to  shun  your  friends 
or  excuse  yourself  on  my  account.  I  may  be  absent  for  two  years 
or  more,  but  absent  though  I  may  be  in  body,  you  will  be  ever  near 
me  in  spirit,  and  I  shall  look  foward  to  our  meeting,  as  the  con- 
sumation  of  a  great  hope.  I  do  not  anticipate  going  for  some  weeks, 
but  I  thought  best  to  apprise  you  of  what  might  happen  almost  any 
day.  Mr.  Rich,  our  agent,  may  be  expected  at  any  time.  It  will 
then  be  determined  when  I  am  to  go.  I  would  have  much  preferred 
to  have  gone  at  this  season  and  become  acclimated  before  the  extreme 
warm  weather,  but  I  must  await  developments.  In  the  meantime 


THREE    GENERATIONS. 


129 


let  us  try  to   be   happy,  and  enjoy  all  there  may  be  left    for  us  in  the 
few  days  we  may  be  permitted  to  be  together." 

"  Be  happy  ?  Yes,  I  am  happy,  too  happy  for  it  to  last.  Rodney,, 
you  have  made  me  happy  to-night.  I  have  just  begun  to  be  happy, 
and  now  comes  the  great  sorrow  of  my  life.  Why  did  you  tell  me 
you  loved  me?  Why  did  you  hold  the  golden  chalice  to 
my  lips  but  to  dash  it  from  me?  We  might  have  parted  as  we  often 
have  before,  to  meet  neither  knew  when.  Time  might  have  flown, 
weeks  and  months  might  have  passed,  even  years  might  have  rolled 
away,  ere  you  came,  and  I  could  have  hoped  on,  but  to  listen  to 
your  words,  to  know  that  it  may  be  years  ere  we  meet,  if  ever,  is  more 
than  I  can  bear,  and  yet  I  would  not  stand  in  the  way  of  your  ad 
vancement.  I  can  still  love,  suffer  as  I  may.' 

The  clock  struck  the  hour  of  twelve.  It  was  midnight.  How  fast 
the  hours  had  flown!  Neither  realized  that  it  could  have  been  past 
10  o'clock.  Bernard  had  not  arrived  and  of  course  would  not  be 
home  before  the  next  afternoon.  Rodney  retired,  and  Endura,  agi 
tated  and  wakeful  as  she  was,  could  do  no  less  than  go  to  her  room. 
Cold  as  was  the  night,  she  threw  herself  upon  her  bed  and  wept. 
How  long  she  lay  there  she  did  not  know,  but  when  she  arose,  she 
felt  a  severe  chill,  which  did  not  leave  her  when  she  was  in  bed. 

The  next  morning  she  sent  for  her  mother  and  told  her  how  ill  she 
had  been  all  night. 

Mrs.  Ivers  was  frightened,  as  it  was  too  apparent  that  her  daughter 
was  destined  to  have  a  settled  fever.  Rodney  was  told  of  Endura's 
illness,  and  he  drove  immediately  to  the  village  for  the  doctor, 
who  happening  to  be  at  a  neighbor's,  whose  wife  was  at  the  point  of 
death;  nothing  was  left,  but  for  him  to  go  for  another  physician,  who 
lived  four  miles  away.  Taking  the  doctor  in  his  cutter,  as  no  time 
was  to  be  lost,  harnessing  another  horse,  they  were  soon  on  their 
way  to  Endura's  home,  where  they  arrived  in  good  time.  Rodney's 
horse  had  seldom  felt  the  whip  before,  and  when  he  was  urged  by 
his  considerate  master,  he  seemed  to  feel  the  importance  of  the 
occasion  and  he  fairly  flew  over  the  smooth  frozen  road.  Doctor 
Edgar  was  a  young  practitioner  who  had  lately  settled  in  the  county, 
and  notwithstanding  the  popularity  of  Doctor  King,  the  old  family 
physicain,  he  was  building  up  a  splendid  practice.  It  was  unfortu- 


130  ENDURA:  OR, 

nate  for  Doctor  King,  that  he  was  unable  to  attend  Endura,  upon  on 
that  occasion,  as  Doctor  Edgar  gave  such  perfect  satisfaction  that  he 
was  ever  after  retained  as  the  family  physician. 

He  set  himself  to  work  to  break  up  the  fever,  taking  measures 
which  the  old  allopathic  system  prohibited,  but  which  appeared  to 
work  like  a  charm.  Endura  was  very  ill.  All  the  day  following  the 
night  when  Rodney  spoke  to  her  of  going  away,  her  mind  wandered, 
and  the  next  night  she  was  quite  delirious  ;  so  much  so,  that  when 
Bernard  came,  she  did  not  know  him.  She  was  in  great  pain,  and 
between  her  groans  would  say,  appealingly,  "You  must  go." 
The  third  day,  the  doctor  had  obtained  complete  mastery 
over  the  fever,  and  his  patient  began  to  mend,  and 
grew  better  rapidly.  Bernard  remained  at  home  for  several  days 
to  the  great  delight  of  his  sister,  who  could  not  bear  to  have 
him  out  of  her  sight.  Rodney  came  every  day  until  Endura 
was  quite  recoved.  The  day  before  Bernard  was  to  return  to  his 
studies,  Rodney  invited  him  to  take  a  sleigh  ride  with  him,  which 
Bernard  very  gladly  accepted.  During  the  drive,  Rodney  took  occa 
sion  to  disclose  some  of  the  facts  herebefore  mentioned.  Among 
others,  the  long  standing  and  growing  regard  he  had  for  his  sister, 
and  finally  that«he  had  told  her  all,  which,  he  was  happy  to  say,  was 
reciprocated.  He  said  he  had  some  misgivings  as  to  the  wisdom  or 
propriety  of  letting  her  know  his  feelings,  knowing  as  he  did  the 
peculiar  position  in  which  it  would  place  her  with  her  neighbors  and 
friends,  who  differed  with  him  on  religious  matters.  He  said  he  felt 
it  would  be  better  for  him  to  accept  the  position  offered  him  at  New 
Orleans,  as  it  would  give  Endura  plenty  of  time  to  consider  the  ad 
visability  of  her  continuing  to  recognise  him  as  a  friend  or  some 
thing  nearer. 

Bernard  said  he  knew  his  sister  well  enough  to  assure  him  that  it 
would  make  no  difference  whether  the  neighbors  indorsed  him  or  nojt, 
if  she  had  once  made  up  her  mind.  At  the  same  time,  he  approved 
of  his  accepting  the  position,  which  was  offered  him,  as  one  which 
would  eventually  lead  to  further  advancement. 

Bernard  was  surprised  and  indignant.  He  expressed  the  belief 
that  with  such  bigotry  and  intolerance  ill  would  befall  the  place  soon 
or  late,  and  he  advised  Rodney  to  give  his  father  his  opinion,  and  tell 


THREE    GENERATIONS.  131 

him  to  try  and  dispose  of  his  property  as  soon  as  possible.  Rodney 
said  his  father  had  no  idea  of  running  away  from  them  because  of 
their  threats. 

"But,"  said  he,  "if  he  could  find  a  customer  who  would  offer  him 
a  fair  price  for  his  place  he  thought  he  might  sell." 

Returning  from  their  drive  the  two  young  men  separated.  Rodney 
going  to  his  home  in  the  village,  while  Bernard  made  himself  ready 
to  take  the  stage,  which  was  to  convey  him  back  to  town.  Endura 
recovered  without  suffering  a  run  of  fever,  which  was  attributed  to  the 
prompt  treatment  of  Doctor  Edgar,  who  was  much  honored  for  his 
great  success. 


132  ENDURA  :    OR, 


CHAPTER   XVI. 

WORKING  TO    REST. 

If  by  prayer 

Incessant  I  could  hope  to  change  the  will 
Of  him  who  all  things  can,  I  would  not  cease 
To  weary  him  with  my  assiduous  cries. 

— Milton's  Paradise  Lost. 

THE  season  of  revival  had  its  run,  and  after  the  winter  came  spring 
and  flowers,  and  bright  sunshine  and  green  leaves.  The 
hyacinth  and  the  crocus  awoke  from  their  winter's  sleep  and  came 
forth  decked  in  beauty,  and  laden  with  perfume  the  first  children  of 
spring.  Anon  the  stately  lilac  puts  forth  its  purple  plums,  and  sways 
its  censers  o'er  the  garden  walks ;  the  orchards  are  in  bloom,  and 
o'er  the  earth  is  scattered  the  snowy  leaves,  like  flakes  they  fall  from 
the  parent  tree.  The  blue  sky  and  clear  cut  clouds,  the  clear  air  and 
gurgling  brooks,  the  early  song-birds,  and  the  concerting  frogs  in  the 
marsh  below,  all 'said  that  spring  had  come.  The  wild-geese  were 
winging  their  way  northward,  which  assured  the  cheerful  farmer  that 
the  winter  had,  indeed,  gone,  and  the  time  for  him  to  begin  work  in 
earnest  was  at  hand. 

General  Ivers  was  prepared  for  emergencies.  His  plows  were  in 
order,  his  tools  were  kept  bright,  and  his  sleek,  well-fed  cattle  were 
in  good  heart  to  undertake  what  was  before  them.  The  General  had 
employed  a  man  and  boy  who,  with  what  assistance  he  would  give 
them,  and  now  and  then  an  extra  man  or  two  by  the  day,  were  ex 
pected  to  do  the  work  on  the  farm. 

General  Ivers  often  spoke  of  Donald  Kent.  He  said  he  was  the 
best  hand  he  had  ever  had  on  the  place,  man  or  boy.  All  of  his  good 
qualities  were  talked  over  in  the  family,  with  an  expressed  wish,  by 
some  one  of  them,  that  he  would  come  back;  none  wished  it  more 
than  Endura,  who  said  the  least  about  it. 

There  are  two  seasons  in  the  country,  especially  conducive  to  con 
templation  if  not  to  loneliness.  They  are  spring  and  autumn.  The 


THREE    GENERATIONS.  133 

one  is  the  awakening,  and  the  other  the  consummation,  or  the  morn 
ing  and  evening  of  the  year. 

The  very  birds  go  in  pairs  to  seek  their  nests,  and  are  happy  to 
gether  in  spring.  They  grow  glad  with  the  summer,  and  when  the 
melancholy  days  are  come  they  change  their  songs  of  mirth  to  suit  the 
time,  and  fly  away  to  warmer  climes,  until  another  spring  shall  bring 
forth  other  flowers,  when  they  will  come  again  with  their  happy 
songs.  Why  there  should  be  an  air  of  loneliness  around  when  all 
nature  is  so  gay,  with  its  new  life  is  hard  to  understand,  unless  it  is 
that  toil  and  hardship  is  before  us.  When  the  crops  are  planted  a 
kind  of  respite  is  had,  and  the  husbandman  rests  complacently  while 
they  corns  forth. 

General  Ivers'  crops  were  all  planted.  His  fields  were  dressed ;  his 
walls  and  fences  were  repaired.  The  corn  was  just  beginning  to 
peep  from  the  ground,  showing  the  green  blades  in  long  rows  across 
the  field.  It  was  May.  Every  vistige  of  winter  was  gone.  Flowers 
were  on  the  meadow.  The  hillsides  were  strewn  with  violets,  and 
the  blue  fleur-de-lis  were  on  the  river  bank.  The  gentle  breeze  kissed 
the  grassy  knoll  that  blushed  at  its  embrace.  Summer  was  near, 
gay,  glorious,  bountiful  summer,  nature's  perfect  life. 

One  evening,  the  last  of  May,  General  Ivers  received  a  letter  post 
marked  Boston.  He  knew  the  handwriting.  It  was  that  of  Donald 
Kent's,  who  had  been  quite  ill,  so  much  so  that  both  partners  of  the 
law  firm,  with  which  he  was  studying,  advised  him  to  take  a  good, 
long  rest.  He  wrote  to  his  old  friend  to  know  if  he  might  come  and 
work  for  him  for  a  few  weeks. 

He  said  that  he  should  not  expect  any  pay,  for  he  did  not  think  he 
would  be  worth  much,  if  anything,  for  some  days,  at  least,  until  he 
could  regain  his  strength  which  he  wrote  was  nearly  all  gone  since  his 
sickness;  but  he  promised  to  do  his  best  if  the  General  would  let  him 
come. 

General  Ivers  answered  the  letter  immediately,  and  told  him  to 
come  at  once.  Said  he  : 

"Your  hoe  hangs  in  its  old  place.  I  have  never  let  any  one  use 
it,  and  it  is  almost  as  bright  as  when  you  hung  it  there  years  ago." 

Donald  was  delighted  to  receive  the  letter,  and  immediately  made 
arrangements  for  his  departure. 


134  ENDURA:  OR, 

It  was  on  a  Saturday  night,  early  in  June,  that  our  young  friend 
arrived,  a  welcome  guest  at  the  house  of  our  farmer  prince.  No  son 
was  ever  more  kindly  welcomed  than  he  was  by  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Ivers. 
No  brother  was  ever  more  warmly  greeted  with  a  sister's  love  than 
he  was  by  Endura's. 

He  was  pale  and  thin,  but  the  same  noble  bearing  remained.  The 
same  genial  smile  that  could  make  happy  all  who  came  under  its 
influence  was  his. 

Mrs.  Ivers  really  seemed  alarmed  at  his  feeble  appearance,  and 
told  him  she  was  afraid  he  had  been  studying  too  hard. 

He  told  her  that  he  had  applied  himself  rather  closely,  "but,"  said 
he,  "  I  am  sure  I  shall  come  out  all  right  if  you  let  me  stay  here  a 
few  days.  I  have  so  longed  for  some  of  your  nice  dinners  and, 
more  than  anything,  for  a  piece  of  one  of  your  johnny-cakes." 

Mrs.  Ivers  promised  him  both,  and  a  real  good  bed  to  rest  upon; 
and  as  it  was  getting  late,  she  knew  he  must  be  tired,  and  he  had 
better  retire,  which  he  was  in  no  way  loth  to  do. 

He  was  shown  into  the  great  east  bedroom,  which  had  recently 
been  furnished  as  a  guest-room.  Everything  was  new  and  fresh, 
from  the  carpet  on  the  floor  to  the  feather-bed,  which  was  most  in 
viting  to  our  weary  friend. 

There  were  beautiful  flowers  upon  every  hand.  Upon  either  side 
of  the  mirror  on  the  bureau  there  stood  a  lovely  vase  filled  with  fra 
grant  wild  violets ;  with  those  mingled  the  perfume  of  the  azalia  and 
the  sweet-briar.  The  whole  atmosphere  was  laden  with  the  odor  of 
many  flowers,  so  much  so,  that  Donald  feared  it  might  disturb  his 
rest.  Opening  the  window,  he  placed  vase  after  vase  upon  its  sill, 
until  nearly  all  were  removed,  when  he  retired. 

Who  shall  say  that  was  not  a  happy  household!  Those  who 
bestowed  and  he  who  received  were  alike  happy.  Donald  lay  his 
head  upon  his  pillow,  and  a  silent  prayer  of  gratitude  went  up  to 
the  Throne  of  Grace,  after  which  he  slept  sweetly  until  the  morning. 

When  Donald  awoke  the  next  morning  the  sun  was  up  and  the 
birds  sang  their  sweetest,  as  if  they  too  welcomed  him.  He  could 
not  but  feel  that  God  had  been  good  to  him  in  allowing  him  to  be 
placed  amid  such  pleasant  surroundings.  He  remembered  the  time 
when,  as  a  boy,  he  occupied  the  little  room  over  the  kitchen,  when  it 


THREE    GENERATIONS.  135 

was  his  duty  to  be  the  first  astir  in  the  morning.  He  remembered 
how  he  looked  forward  to  the  time  when  he  would  be  a  man  and  be 
welcomed  as  a  guest  to  the  great  house;  but  the  reality  far  surpassed 
his  most  sanguine  dreams.  He  did  not  arise  immediately,  as  he 
knew  there  would  be  no  hurry,  it  being  the  Sabbath  morning.  He 
lived  over  the  past.  He  saw  himself  the  poor  boy  at  home  where 
there  were  enough  without  him;  and  then  he  pictured  himself  as  first 
he  appeared  before  General  Ivers,  with  his  father;  and  then  he  saw 
himself  going  to  school  with  little  Endura;  and  then  came  an  un 
pleasant  chapter  in  his  youth's  history— his  fight  with  Jack  Young, 
and  his  disgrace  and  mortification. 

He  wondered  if  the  good  people  down-stairs  remembered  it,  and 
if  they  still  believed  he  did  wrong  in  not  forgiving  the  teacher  and 
going  back  to  school.  Every  unimportant  event  appeared  to  come  up 
before  him — the  bitter  and  the  sweet. 

Then  he  thought  of  the  time  he  was  selected  to  teach  the  district 
school,  and  the  pleasant  winter  which  followed,  when  all  the  young 
people  who  attended  tried  to  see  who  should  do  him  most  honor; 
and  how  happy  he  was,  and  how  rapidly  the  days  and  weeks  flew 
past,  when  spring  came  and  he  let  himself  for  months  of  toil  upon  a 
farm  in  a  distant  part  of  the  State.  How  hard  it  was  to  part  with  his 
pupils,  and,  especially  so,  from  Endura,  who  appeared  so  fond  of 
him,  and  who  he  was  sure  he  loved  better  than  a  sister;  and  then  of 
his  visit,  and  of  Sally  Vic's  death.  Oh!  it  seemed  so — so  long  ago. 
He  got  up  instinctively,  and,  going  to  the  window,  he  looked  out 
upon  the  beautiful  green  fields,  dotted  here  and  there  with  early  sum 
mer  flowers.  His  eye  rested  upon  the  graveyard,  in  a  sunny  corner, 
where  Squire  Ivers  and  his  good  wife  had  lain  side  by  side  for  many 
years;  and  then  a  little  to  the  right  was  the  third  marble  tablet.  It 
occurred  to  him  at  once  that  it  could  be  for  none  other  than  his  gen 
tle  friend  Sally  Vic.  He  felt  a  thrill,  and  the  landscape  grew  dim ; 
the  birds  ceased,  or  he  heard  them  not,  and  the  flowers  yielded  no 
perfume.  Donald  Kent  was  in  heaven,  or  lost  in  reverie ;  but  a  gen 
tle  step  in  the  hall  awakened  him  from  the  rapturous  trance  into 
which  his  reverie  had  born^  him. 

He  dressed  himself  as  soon  as  possible  and  went  down.  There 
sat  the  little  charge  of  his  boyhood  upon  the  front  steps  with  a  book 


136  ENDURA:  OR, 

in  her  hand.  She  greeted  him  with  a  sweet  voice  and  her  loveliest 
smile.  She  said  she  had  been  waiting  for  him  to  sit  with  her  and  to 
breathe  the  soft  air  of  morning,  hear  the  birds  sing,  and  to  talk  over 
old  times. 

"Oh,  Donald,  I  am  so  glad  you  came.  I  wish  you  would  come 
often;  I  have  so  much  to  tell  you  that  I  can  not  think  of  one-half  of 
it  when  you  come.  It  has  been  so  long, — more  than  two  years — 
since  we  have  seen  each  other,  and  the  last  time  I  did  not  have  you 
to  myself  at  all." 

"  If  I  remember,  you  had  some  one  else  very  much  to  yourself  at 
that  time.  By  the  way,  I  must  ask  after  your  friend,  Mr.  Hay  wood; 
he  is  well,  I  hope  ?" 

"  Oh,  yes,  Rodney  is  quite  well;  but  he  expects  to  leave  us  very 
soon  to  be  gone  for  two  years,  or  it  may  be  longer." 

"  How  is  that  ?  I  did  not  hear  of  it  before.  Where  does  he  an 
ticipate  going  to  ?" 

"  Mr.  Haywood  and  his  partner,  Mr.  Hanford,  both  wish  him  to 
go  to  New  Orleans  as  purchasing  agent  for  the  company.  Their 
agent  is  expected  home  at  any  moment.  Rodney  does  not  take 
kindly  to  it,  but  he  has  concluded  that  it  will  be  for  his  interest  to 
go,  so  he  will  leave  as  soon  as  Mr.  Rich  arrives." 

"  You  will  be  very  lonely,  Endura,  but  I  am  afraid  my  presence 
would  not  compensate  for  the  loss  of  him  who  goes  from  you." 

Donald,  for  the  first  time,  thought  he  noticed  a  slight  coloring  of 
her  face,  and  he  said  no  more.  Endura  said  Rodney  had  been  very 
kind,  and  she  could  not  but  miss  him  very  much. 

"I  expect  him  to-day,"  she  continued,  "and  I  am  so  glad.  I  do 
not  believe  you  knew  each  other  very  well.  I  want  you  to  be  the 
best  of  friends  for  my  sake." 

"We  shall  certainly  be  friends.  Whoever  is  your  friend  shall  be 
mine;  and  if  he  prove  unworthy  your  friendship,  let  him  beware  of 
me.  When  you  were  a  little  child  and  I  carried  you  over  the  bad 
places,  or  dragged  you  on  my  little  sled,  I  felt  that  I  must  watch  over 
you,  and  now,  when  you  have  no  farther  need  of  me  in  the  capacity 
of  guardian  and  protector,  I  feel  like  assuming  my  old  prerogative 
and  taking  care  of  you  still." 

"  I  have  never  been  more  happy  than  when  you  used  to  take   me 


THREE    GENERATIONS.  137 

to  school.  And  the  times  we  coasted  down  the  steep  hill  back  of  the 
orchard, — how  well  I  remember  them!  you  held  me  on  the  sled  before 
you,  and  down  we  went,  often  to  be  tumbled  in  the  snow.  I  used  to 
get  almost  frozen,  but  would  suffer  rather  than  go  in.  And  when  I 
did  go  near  the  fire  how  my  little  hands  did  ache,  and  mother  would 
wrap  them  in  a  warm  cloth  until  the  blood  circulated,  when  I  was 
ready  to  try  it  again." 

"It  was  a  great  pleasure  for  me,  I  assure  you,  for  I  was  ever  fond 
of  such  sport.  Besides,  I  was  always  so  proud  of  my  sweet,  little 
charge. " 

"  Donald,  you  were  more  to  me  than  a  brother.  Bernard  never 
cared  for  me  half  as  well.  In  truth,  I  never  had  one-half  the  confi 
dence  in  him  that  I  have  ever  had  in  you." 

"It  pleases  me  to  have  you  say  so.  But  there  is  one  coming  to 
day  in  whom  you  have  greater  faith,— one  whom  you  can  trust  more 
and  love  better." 

"  Do  not  say  trust  more.  Who  can  I  ever  trust  as  I  have  trusted 
you  ?  As  a  child  I  loved  you  as  a  brother,  but  you  must  remember 
I  am  a  woman  and  that  we  have  been  separated.  You  have  drifted 
from  me,  and  you  can  not  blame  me  if  I  have  formed  other  ac 
quaintances.  But  I  shall  ever  look  upon  you  as  one  of  my  very 
dearest  friends." 

Just  then  they  we're  called  to  breakfast,  which  was  smoking  hot 
upon  the  table. 

Where  does  a  breakfast  taste  as  good  as  in  the  country,  at  a  farm- 
house?  But  there  must  be  something  more  than  mere  country  air  to 
give  it  the  zest  longest  to  be  remembered. 

Donald  Kent  thought  he  never  ate  such  a  breakfast  before.  He 
had  often  eaten  johnny-cakes  at  that  same  table,  but  it  seemed  to 
him  that  he  never  relished  them  as  much  before — that  sweet  new 
butter,  the  fresh  eggs,  the  delicious  ham,  all  raised  by  farmer  Ivers. 
Donald  realized  that  he  was  really  hungry.  It  appeared  to  him  a 
long  time  since  he  had  been  so  before ;  he  was  quite  sure  that  he 
had  not  tasted  such  a  breakfast  for,  it  seemed  to  him,  years. 

The  conversation  was  pleasant,  and  the  anticipation  of  a  ramble 
about  the  place  added  to  the  pleasure.  But  General  Ivers  spoke  of 
attending  church,  which,  if  they  did,  there  was  little  time  to  lose. 


I38  ENDURA  :    OR, 

Donald  was  asked  if  he  cared  to  go  with  them.  He  said  if  they 
were  all  going  he  would  accompany  them,  and  it  was  so  decided. 
Perhaps  it  might  not  have  been  altogether  to  his  taste,  but  he  thought 
he  could  have  his  ramble  afterwards.  " Besides,"  he  thought,  "I 
shall  see  some  of  my  old  friends." 

The  carryall  was  already  at  the  door,  and  as  it  took  but  a  few 
minutes  for  Mrs.  Ivers  and  Endura  to  get  ready,  they  were  soon  on 
the  way,  and,  indeed,  very  soon  there. 

It  was  a  lovely  morning,  and  the  good  people  from  far  and  near 
seemed  to  have  taken  advantage  of  it,  for  there  were  a  great  many 
present,  when  General  Ivers  and  his  family  arrived,  and  they  con 
tinued  to  come  until  the  house  was  full,  if  not  crowded. 

A  stranger  was  to  preach,  as  they  learned  after  they  reached  the 
church,  and  perhaps  it  might  have  been  a  knowledge  of  this  fact  that 
had  something  to  do  with  the  number  present.  When  the  speaker 
arose,  all  were  somewhat  surprised,  if  not  disappointed.  He 
appeared  like  a  very  common  man,  dressed  in  rather  ordinary 
clothes,  but  neat  and  respectable.  He  took  for  his  text,  Acts 
xvii:  22  :  "Then  Paul  stood  in  the  midst  of  Mars  hill  and  said, 
Ye  men  of  Athens,  I  perceive  that  in  all  things  ye  are  too  supersti 
tious."  The  reading  of  the  text  appeared  to  have  the  desired  effect, 
as  all  present  seemed  to  awake  as  soon  as  it  was  announced;  and 
from  that  time  to  the  close  the  speaker  commanded  the  closest  atten 
tion. 

He  said  :  "The  Athenians  worshiped  idols,  and  spent  their  time  in 
telling  or  listening  to  some  new  thing ;  and  as  they  heard  that  Paul 
proclaimed  a  new  doctrine,  they  were  anxious  to  hear  what  it  might 
be.  They  said,  •  What  will  this  babbler  say ?'  They  said  unto  him, 
'Thou  bringest  certain  strange  things  to  our  ears;  we  would  know, 
therefore,  what  these  things  mean.'  Then  Paul  stood  up  and  told  them 
the  truth.  He  said  as  he  passed  by  he  saw  an  altar  with  this  inscription  : 
*  To  THE  UNKNOWN  GOD — Whom,  therefore,  ye  ignorantly  worship, 
him  I  declare  unto  you.'  When  they  heard  of  the  resurrection  of 
the  dead  some  mocked,  and  others  said:  '  We  will  hear  thee  again 
on  this  matter.'  When  Paul  departed  from  among  them,  certain 
men  believed  in  the  doctrine  he  had  preached  to  them.  Now,  my 
brethren,  if  I  am  as  fortunate  as  was  Paul,  I  shall  think  myself  most 


THREE    GENERATIONS.  139 

I 

happy  and  well  paid.  The  Jews  raised  a  great  hue  and  cry  against 
Paul,  and  said:  'This  fellow  persuadeth  men  to  worship  God  con 
trary  to  the  law.'  Thank  God !  there  is  no  law  in  this  country  as  to 
how  we  are  to  worship,  except  with  prayer  and  fasting,  and  by  doing 
unto  others  as  we  would  have  others  do  unto  us.  I  am  sorry  to 
know  that  there  are  those  here  to-day  who  do  not  follow  those  blessed 
precepts.  There  are  those  present  who  would  not  believe  any  doctrine 
that  did  not  accord  with  their  own  narrow,  contracted  ideas.  And 
they  would  compel,  if  they  could  everyone,  to  worship  God  as  they 
do,  or  not  at  all. 

"  Now,  brethren,  that  is  not  the  right  spirit.  Such  were  not  the 
teachings  of  our  Lord  and  Savior.  Think  you,  brethren,  that  the 
Jews  did  right?  They  were  intolerant;  so  are  you.  They  perse 
cuted  those  who  promulgated  new  doctrines;  so  do  you.  Would  you 
have  believed  the  blessed  Savior  had  you  lived  in  his  time  and  been 
brought  up  with  the  Jews  ?  Methinks  not.  And  yet  you  condemn 
them,  while  to-day,  in  this  enlightened  age,  you  yourselves  do  the 
same  thing.  And  we  will  do  you  the  credit  of  believing  you  are  sin 
cere.  I  again  repeat  the  words  of  the  great  apostle,  "  Ye  are  too 
superstitious.' " 

The  whole  discourse,  which  was  a  long  one,  was  continued  in  the 
same  strain.  The  speaker  was  especially  scathing  in  his  denuncia 
tions  of  intolerance,  and  he  commended  charity  as  the  greatest 
Christian  virtue.  He  closed  with  an  able  prayer,  not  forgetting  all 
who  were  in  their  midst,  and  those  who  did  not  understand  religion 
as  he  did,  no  matter  what  gods  they  worshiped,  or  if  they  worshiped 
the  same  God  in  a  different  way;  as  long  as  they  were  sincere  they 
were  brothers;  and  he  believed  in  the  end  they  would  all  reach  the 
same  goal. 

When  the  sermon  was  finished,  there  appeared  to  be  a  more  than 
usual  commotion.  The  congregation  collected  in  twos  and  fours 
and  sixes,  generally  indorsing  what  had  been  said  by  the  minister. 
A  few  there  were  who  did  not  coincide  with  him,  who  appeared  to 
feel  that  he  preached  especially  at  them.  Among  them  were  those 
who  had  been  most  active  in  their  persecution  of  Mr.  Haywood. 

Mrs.  Tartar  waited  until  Elder  Knocks  should  give  his  opinion, 
and  Mrs.  Cramp  waited  to  hear  what  Mrs.  Tartar  would  say ;  but 


14°  ENDURA  :    OR, 

Miss  Cutting  gave  an  unqualified  opinion,  which  was,  that  the  man 
had  come  there  in  the  interest  of  that  wicked  man,  Haywood,  which 
Mrs.  Tartar  could  not  indorse,  or  the  infidel  would  certainly  have 
been  present.  Mr.  Cribbe,  meeting  the  above-named  ladies  as  they 
came  out  of  church,  asked  them  how  they  liked  the  sermon.  But 
with  the  exception  of  Miss  Cutting,  their  answers  were  rather  equiv 
ocal.  General  Ivers  and  family  were  highly  pleased  with  the  dis 
course,  and  the  General  invited  the  speaker  to  ride  home  and  stay 
the  night  with  him,  which,  after  some  little  persuasion,  he  consented 
to  do. 

Endura  was  to  remain  at  Mr.  Haywood's  until  Donald  could 
return  for  her;  but  Rodney,  being  at  home,  he  insisted  upon  taking 
her  himself,  which  he  did,  and  arrived  as  soon  as  General  Ivers  did 
with  his  more  moderate  team.  Donald  was  somewhat  disappointed 
when  Rodney  insisted  on  driving  Endura  home ;  and  while  he  re 
mained,  Donald  did  not  seem  quite  happy.  But  Rodney  was 
obliged  to  return,  as  the  mail  was  expected  to  bring  a  letter  which 
would  seal  his  destiny ;  besides,  he  did  not  quite  like  to  feel  that 
Endura's  attentions  would  be  divided  if  he  remained. 

When  Rodney  was  gone,  Donald  appeared  like  himself.  He 
asked  Endura  if  she  would  not  like  to  take  a  ramble  with  him  across 
the  fields,  as  far  as  one  of  the  neighbor's.  She  readily  consented, 
and,  taking  her  sun-hat,  they  set  off  together. 

They  went  first  to  the  graveyard  where  the  grandfather  and 
grandmother  of  Endura  were  buried.  They  read  the  simple 
epitaph  upon  each  tablet,  and  then  turned  to  the  headstone 
of  Sally  Vic.  Donald  lingered  by  the  grave  without  speaking  a 
word,  and  as  he  turned  to  go  he  took  out  his  handkerchief  and  wiped 
his  eyes,  as  he  said  : 

"  Poor  Sally  !  why  was  she  born  ?  The  cold  world  is  no  place  for 
such  as  she.  And  yet  she  made  happy  those  around  her,  even  when 
she  stood  upon  the  verge  of  the  dark  river.  Endura,  that  poor 
girl  made  me  better  than  otherwise  I  should  have  been.  Her  patient 
suffering  taught  me  a  lesson  which  I  have  never  forgotten.  And  that 
answers  my  question.  She  did  not  live  in  vain.  Shall  I  tell  you 
that  you,  too,  have  influenced  my  life?  Bad  as  I  may  be,  I  am 
the  better  for  knowing  you." 


THREE    GENERATIONS.  14! 

"  Donald,  you  were  always  good,  always  gentle  and  kind,  not  alone 
to  me,  but  to  every  one  else." 

"You  must  except  Jake  Young,  Endura,  I  was  never  very  gentle 
to  Jake." 

"  Do  not  speak  of  that  wretched  fellow,  Donald.  He  went  to  sea 
and  has  never  been  heard  of  since." 

They  wandered  on  across  the  fields  until  they  were  very  near  Mrs. 
Tartar's  house,  when  Donald  suggested  that  they  go  in.  They  were 
cordially  welcomed  by  Mrs.  Tartar,  and  introduced  to  a  friend  who 
was  visiting  her.  Mrs.  Cramp  was  there,  and,  as  she  expressed  it, 
she  was  "  drefful  glad  to  see  them  both."  She  said  she  allers  did 
like  Donald,  and  if  she  was  a  gal  she'd  set  her  cap  for  him.  And 
then  she  laughed,  and  Donald  said  what  a  pity  she  was  not  young: 
She  said  she  'sposed  he  had  a  gal  in  Boston,  but  said  she : 

"I  don't  b'lieve  she  can  beat  a  sartin  one  I  know  who  don't  live 
fur  off." 

Mrs.  Tarter  said  she  did  hope  Donald  would  have  found  a  nice 
girl  in  the  neighborhood  for  a  wife.  Mrs.  Cramp  said,  "Mebbe  he 
will  yit." 


142  ENDURA:    OR 


CHAPTER  XVII. 

THE  SUMMER    RAMBLE. 

The  Spring's  gay  promise  melted  into  thee, 
Fair  Summer  ;  and  thy  gentle  reign  is  here. 

—  Willis  G.  Clark, 

T^HE  conversation  of  the  old  woman  was  continued  in  pretty  much 
the  same  strain  while  they  remained.  It  was  not  very  edify 
ing  to  either  Donald  or  Endura  so  excusing  themselves  they  took 
their  leave. 

It  was  a  lovely  day.  The  blush  of  summer  was  upon  the  land 
scape.  The  lingering  flowers  of  spring,  which  dotted  the  fields,  bent 
to  the  gentle  breeze,  and  cast  their  perfume  upon  the  listening  air. 
Their  petals  drooped  as  if  in  sorrow,  as  they  looked  upon  the  set 
ting  sun  for  the  last  time,  ere  death  scattered  them  afar. 

A  gay  butterfly  flitted  near  and  hovered  above  some  early  daisies, 
while  a  bee  lodged  upon  the  sweetest  flower  soon  hid  itself  in  its 
folds  to  revel  in  its  sweetness.  A  swallow,  happy  in  new  fields,  sun 
ning  its  jet  wings,  shot  like  an  arrow  o'er  the  grassy  mead  and  van 
ished  like  a  meteor.  All  nature  seemed  to  welcome  returning  sum 
mer  ;  but  nothing  could  have  been  more  charmed  than  was  Donald 
as  he  walked  by  the  side  of  Endura.  Was  it  a  dream  ?  Was  that 
perfect  form  real  ?  Were  those  soul-searching  eyes  of  the  earth  ;  or 
were  they  lent  for  a  time  from  heaven  to  enrapture  and  enslave  poor 
mortals  like  himself?  Were  those  lips  warm  and  soft?  and  that 
golden  hair,  was  it  not  that  of  an  angel  ? 

Donald  had  never  realized  before  how  perfectly  lovely  was  the  fair 
creature  by  his  side.  To  clasp  her  in  his  arms  would,  as  he  well 
knew,  break  the  spell ;  and,  yet,  how  could  he  resist  heaven  when  it 
was  so  near  ?  Could  the  bee  resist  the  flower  ?  Could  the  flower 
resist  the  sun  ? 

The  gentle  breeze  played  with  her  hair  and  kissed  her  soft  cheek, 
while  he,  flesh  and  blood  like  herself,  was  doomed  to  witness  all  and 
be  denied  the  blessed  boon  that  things  inanimate  were  accorded. 


THREE    GENERATIONS.  143 

"Endura,"  said  he,  "  I  am  far  happier  than  I  ever  hoped  to  be. 
I  have  heen  happy  with  you  before ;  but  to-day  appears  to  be  the  cul 
mination  of  my  happiness.  How  much  have  I  thought  of  you  ! 
How  I  have  longed  to  see  my  little  pet  once  more  !  and  here  I  am 
by  her  side.  Beautiful  as  she  was  as  a  child  she  is  ten  times  more 
charming  to-day,  in  the  early  summer  of  life." 

"  Donald,  you  must  not  flatter  so  much.  We  girls  are  easily 
spoiled,  and  you  may  lay  some  great  sin  at  your  own  door  by  heap 
ing  praise  upon  me.  I  wanted  to  talk  to  you  about  your  profession 
and  your  plans,  but  I  have  had  no  good  opportunity  as  yet.  I 
expect  you  have  made  many  pleasant  acquaintances  in  the  great  city, 
while  poor  me  vegetated  here  among  the  other  weeds." 

"  Do  not  mock  me,  Endura.  Think  you  I  could  be  as  happy  any 
where  as  I  have  been  here  ?  " 

They  approached  a  sloping  rock,  upon  which  they  sat  down.  Don 
ald,  taking  her  little  hand  in  his,  said: 

"  Endura,  I  too  have  wished  to  say  something  to  you.  Will  you 
hear  it  now?" 

Endura  was  startled,  but  summoning  all  her  fortitude  she  bade 
him  speak. 

"  I  have  wanted  to  tell  you  how  much  I  love  you." 

"  Donald,  do  not  speak  more  !" 

"Is  it  a  sin,  then,  that  I  have  dared  to  raise  my  eyes  to  you? 
Have  I  loved  in  vain  ?" 

"  Oh,  Donald !  Donald  !  Why  do  I  hear  this,  and  from  you?  It 
must  not  be  !  You  are  my  dear  brother;  you  can  never  be  aught 
else  !" 

"  True,  true  !  I  had  forgotten  from  whence  I  came  !  I  was  your 
friend,  Endura,  your  teacher,  your  servant." 

"Stop !  stop  !  Donald  !  Are  you  not  my  brother?  Ask  me  to  be 
all  that  a  sister  can  be  and  see  if  I  falter.  Have  I  not  loved  you  as 
a  sister?  As  a  spoiled  child  have  I  not  idolized  my  adopted  brother? 
AVhat  restraints  have  I  felt,  what  freedom  have  I  not  taken  with  you 
that  I  would  have  taken  with  my  own  brother  ?  Have  I  been  guilty 
of  one  act  unsisterly,  yesterday,  to-day,  or  even  in  the  past,  since 
childish  whims  gave  way  to  reasoning  age?  Is  not  that  enough? 


144  ENDURA  :    OR, 

Could  a  brother  ask  for  more?  Could  a  loving  sister  render  less? 
Tell  me,  Donald,  could  I  do  more  ?" 

"No,  Endura.  It  was  I  who  aimed  my  arrow  at  the  sun,  forget 
ting  its  distance  from  me.  Forgive  me,  my  sister.  Love  on  as 
before.  I  will  be  your  brother.  And  let  what  come  that  may  come, 
remember  your  adopted  brother;  and  should  misfortune  overtake 
you,  which  God  grant  may  never  be,  fly  you  to  him,  he  will  assist  you." 

"Thanks,  Donald,  I  feel  happier  now  since  you  do  not  miscon 
strue  the  words  which  my  heart  prompted.  And  now  may  I  confide 
in  you?" 

"Yes,  Endura;  I  can  hear  anything  touching  yourself,  only  I 
beg  you  will  forget  my  presumption." 

"There  was  no  presumption.  But  being  myself  accountable  to 
another,  I  dared  not  listen  to  you." 

Donald  was  brave  and  determined.  But  bowing  to  the  inevitable, 
great  tears  welled  up  from  the  soul  that  could  sacrifice  so  much  for 
the  happiness  of  another. 

Endura  put  her  arm  around  his  neck,  and  drawing  his  head  gently 
toward  her  she  imprinted  a  loving  kiss  upon  his  brow,  while  his  head 
lay  as  if  in  a  swoon  upon  her  gentle  breast.  He  would  have  rested 
there  forever,  but  her  soft  hand  thrilled  him  into  life,  and  he  spoke: 

"Was  it  a  dream?"  said  he.  "Are  we  not  here  on  the  rock  to 
gether?  Did  I  feel  your  soft  lips  upon  my  forehead?  Do  not  say 
no,  unless  you  would  prolong  my  torture." 

"Yes,  I  did  kiss  you,  and  will  again,  and  each  kiss  shall  be  a  seal 
to  a  sister's  love.  I  perceive  that  what  I  said  distressed  you;  let  us 
not  refer  to  it  again." 

"Speak,  Endura,  I  am  calm  and  can  hear  you  now." 

"You  know,  Donald,  that  my  circle  of  friends  is  small.  There 
are  but  few  in  the  neighborhood  with  whom  I  have  cared  to  associate. 
I  have  a  few  friends  in  the  village  who  are  congenial.  One  among 
them  has  been  most  kind ;  one  in  every  way  worthy  to  be  your 
brother.  Oh,  Donald,  you  can  never  know  how  lonely  I  was  when 
you  left  us  !  I  cried  for  more  than  a  week  and  did  not  see  any  one. 

"At  last  Mr.  Haywood  and  Rodney  came  to  the  house,  and  while 
Mr.  H.  was  entertained  by  the  family  I  undertook  to  interest  Rodney. 


THREE    GENERATIONS.  145 

He  seemed  pleased,  and  that  pleased  me  and  encouraged  me  to 
greater  efforts  to  entertain  and  interest  him. 

"  From  that  time  we  became  friends.  He  has  taken  me  riding 
and  to  his  home,  where  I  have  been  most  welcome  by  his  people, 
and  I  have  learned  to  love  very  dearly  his  sister  Clara.  After  you 
went  away  I  tried  to  shake  off  the  dreadful  feeling  which  took  posses 
sion  of  me.  It  seemed  to  me  that  all  who  cared  for  me  had  gone 
away  and  left  me  in  loneliness  and  sorrow.  It  was  then  that  Rod 
ney  Haywood  came  to  me  and  found  me  hungry  for  some  congenial 
spirit. 

"  He  came  often,  always  most  welcome  by  me.  I  grew  to  expect 
him,  and  was  sadly  disappointed  if  he  failed  to  come.  His  society 
became  essential  to  my  happiness,  and  gradually  he  supplied  the 
place  made  void  by  your  long  absence ;  and  so  I  grew  to  love  him, 
but  it  was  months  before  he  knew  it.  At  last  he  told  me  he  loved 
me,  and  I  confessed  all  to  him.  Did  I  do  wrong  ?  " 

"No,  Endura,  it  is  but  fate;  and  may  you  prosper  in  your  love,, 
and  may  the  future  contain  golden  sheaves.  Such  shall  ever  be  the 
prayer  of  your  adopted  brother." 

"It  is  scarcely  one  month  since  he  told  me  he  had  loved  me  from 
the  first.  I  gave  him  my  promise,  as  I  would  have  given  it  to  you, 
It  is  sacred,  and  I  should  deserve  and  expect  your  severest  con 
demnation,  as  I  should  despise  myself,  if  I  attempted  to  avoid  its 
fulfillment." 

They  both  arose  with  sad  hearts,  but  with  firm  resolves — Donald 
to  try  and  make  his  new-found  sister  happy,  Endura  to  prove  herself 
worthy  of  such  a  brother. 

The  sun  was  fast  sinking  in  the  west ;  the  shadows  were  long  upon 
the  grass ;  the  great  white  ash,  which  stood  upon  the  lawn,  stretched 
its  shadows  away  to  the  meadow  and  the  hills ;  the  birds  had  begun 
their  evening  songs,  and  the  crickets  chirped  in  their  hiding-places, 
while  the  noisy  frogs  added  their  clamor  to  the  rest.  "  The  song  of 
the  turtle  was  heard  in  the  land,"  and  all  nature  rejoiced  in  the  full 
ness  of  the  earth. 

Such  seasons  lend  sweetness,  as  they  carry  sadness  to  the  human 
heart,  and  he  that  feels  no  emotions  at  such  a  time,  must  be  void  of 
the  finer  senses. 


146  ENDURA  :    OR, 

Donald  and  Endura  entered  the  house,  and  so  well  did  they  dis 
semble,  that  neither  the  General  nor  Mrs.  Ivers  could  have  suspected 
that  any  but  the  most  pleasing  pastime  had  been  theirs.  The 
evening  passed  pleasantly,  Donald  telling  them  of  the  busy  city,  of 
the  palaces,  of  the  merchant  princes,  and  the  squalor  of  the  poor. 

He  pictured  the  great  gulf  that  separated  the  rich  from  the  poor, 
and  compared  them  with  the  greatest  extremes  in  the  country — so 
favorable  to  the  latter,  that  those  who  considered  themselves  poor, 
with  pure  air  and  health,  and  plenty  to  eat,  drink  and  wear,  might 
almost  deem  themselves  rich. 

Another  Sabbath  had  ended;  another  week  had  begun.  The 
morrow  would  be  a  day  of  toil,  but,  to  the  thrifty  farmer,  light  toil  is 
a  pleasure  and  a  pastime.  He  loves  to  see  his  crops  growing,  while 
he  aids  them  with  his  spade  or  his  hoe.  He  loves  to  prune  his  trees, 
which  seem  to  thank  him  by  sending  forth  new  and  vigorous  shoots, 
instead  of  the  sickly  and  dying  branches  which  his  sharp  blade  had 
severed.  He  loves  to  destroy  the  weeds  which  choke  and  stint  the 
corn,  for  he  knows  it  will  repay  his  kindness  with  a  bountiful 
harvest.  Every  day  the  contented  farmer  sees  something  to  make 
him  thankful,  and  encourage  him  to  new  efforts.  Even  when  seasons 
are  unfavorable,  there  are  still  some  bright  spots. 

Donald  was  up  early,  and  went  about  his  work  with  the  promptness 
of  a  hired  man.  He  worked  in  the  garden  a  good  long  hour  before 
breakfast,  and  when,  at  last,  he  was  called,  he  had  no  reason  to  com 
plain  of  an  appetite,  and  the  breakfast  that  was  set  before  him 
enhanced  it. 

He  asked  why  it  was  that  he  could  not  get  so  good  a  breakfast  in 
the  city. 

The  General  suggested  that  he  did  not  have  a  garden  to  work  in 
before  eating  a  city  breakfast ;  and  the  pure,  fresh  air,  he  said,  was 
another  condiment. 

"  Mrs.  Ivers,"  said  he,  "  is  there  any  fear  that  your  Johnny-cakes 
and  apple  sauce  and  new  butter  will  give  out?" 

The  good  lady  laughed  at  the  idea,  but  the  General  said  if  there 
was  any  prospect  for  such  a  calamity,  he  wished  to  know  it  in  time, 
so  that  he  could  forbid  him  working  in  the  garden  until  the  supply 
was  assured. 


THREE    GENERATIONS.  147 

All  laughed  at  the  neat  turn  given  the  subject,  which  helped  to 
settle  an  excellent  breakfast. 

The  sun  had  crossed  the  meridian,  and  began  slowly  to  descend  to 
his  setting.  Donald  was  already  tired  of  labor  for  the  day,  for  he 
had  worked  steadily  since  early  morning.  The  General  told  him  he 
had  better  call  it  half  a  day,  and  go  in — advice  he  was  in  no  wise 
loth  to  accept. 

He  did  not  enter  the  house  immediately,  but  availed  himself  of  his 
old  privilege  of  lounging  awhile  beneath  the  willows  whose  supple 
branches  swept  the  verdant  lawn.  He  had  not  been  long  in  repose 
before  a  sudden  chill  admonished  him  of  danger.  He  arose  just  as 
Rodney  Haywood  drove  up  in  his  buggy  to  bid  good-bye  to  the 
family,  as  the  advices  had  arrived  which  made  it  neccessary  for  him 
to  leave  by  that  evening's  coach  for  the  city,  from  whence  he  would 
sail  for  New  Orleans  two  days  later.  All  the  family  felt  sad  at  his 
going,  but  for  Endura  the  parting  was  bitter  indeed. 

Rodney  took  his  leave  of  Endura  alone  in  the  parlor,  and  then,  as 
if  he  dared  not  trust  himself  by  lingering,  he  bade  good-bye  to  all, 
and  rushed  away.  Donald  walked  with  him  to  the  gate,  and  return 
ing,  told  Mrs.  Ivers  he  felt  cold,  which  somewhat  alarmed  the  good 
woman,  who  knew  not  of  his  imprudence  under  the  willow.  He 
grew  rapidly  worse,  and  in  two  hours  from  the  time  Rodney  left,  he 
was  in  a  burning  fever. 

General  Ivers  sent  for  the  doctor  immediately.  Of  course  none 
other  than  Dr.  Edgar  must  be  called,  after  their  experience  when 
Endura  was  so  similarly  attacked. 

The  doctor  happened  to  be  home,  and  came  immediately.  When 
he  had  examined  the  patient  he  pronounced  it  a  congestive  chill, 
which  might  result  in  a  run  of  fever. 

He  asked  if  Donald  had  exposed  himself,  and  was  told  that  he  had 
not,  as  far  as  was  known.  The  doctor  said  that  occasionally  the 
mind  had  something  to  do  with  such  sudden  prostrations,  and  he 
asked  if  he  had  been  unusually  excited.  This  was  also  answered  in 
the  negative. 

Dr.  Edgar  remained  for  more  than  an  hour,  during  which  time  his 
patient  grew  rapidly  worse.  Leaving  some  medicine,  with  directions 


148  ENDURA:  OR, 

for  administering,  he  took  his  departure,  promising  to  come  again  in 
the  morning. 

Donald  was  in  great  agony,  and  at  times  his  mind  wandered,  and 
he  muttered  something  to  himself  which  General  Ivers  or  his  wife 
could  not  make  out.  Either  the  General  or  his  wife  was  by  his  bed 
side  all  night  long,  and  they  awaited  very  anxiously  for  the  doctor's 
arrival  the  next  morning.  When  he  came  he  told  them  it  would  be 
next  to  impossible  to  break  up  the  fever,  which  was,  he  said,  a 
malignant  form  of  typhoid.  And  said  he : 

"It  will  greatly  depend  upon  a  good  constitution  and  good  nursing 
as  to  whether  he  gets  through  or  not." 

Endura  heard  the  words  of  the  physician  and  grew  pale  and  faint, 
but  turned  and  hurriedly  left  the  room.  She  was  fearful  that  her 
looks  or  her  emotion  would  betray  her,  and  dared  not  remain.  She 
went  to  her  room,  and,  throwing  herself  upon  the  bed,  she  wept  as 
though  her  heart  would  break. 

"Oh,  Donald,  am  I  to  blame?     Would  I  could  suffer  for  you!" 

She  did  not  realize  how  long  she  had  been  there,  when  the  voice 
of  her  mother  called  her  to  her  senses.  She  wiped  her  eyes  and 
went  down  but  to  find  the  household  in  the  greatest  alarm.  The 
hired  man  had  been  hurried  off  for  another  doctor,  at  the  request  of 
Dr.  Edgar. 

The  two  hours  of  the  man's  absence  seemed  an  age,  but  he  came 
at  last,  and  with  him  Dr.  Carmel,  one  of  the  best  physicians  in  the 
county.  After  a  hasty  examination  of  the  patient,  he  approved  of  all 
Dr.  Edgar  had  done,  and  said  it  was  very  important  that  he  should 
have  immediate  relief,  "for,"  said  he,  "humanity  can  not  long 
endure  the  agony  he  is  suffering." 

Opiates  were  administered,  much  stronger  than  had  often  been 
given,  but  they  failed  to  give  relief.  At  last  morphine  was  injected 
into  the  veins  of  the  suffering  man,  which  appeared  to  quiet  him, 
while  a  semblance  of  death  gathered  upon  his  face.  From  that  time 
forward  he  was  kept  under  the  influence  of  opiates  for  four  days. 

Of  course  he  was  much  exhausted,  and  every  means  was  resorted 
to  to  stimulate  him  sufficient  to  carry  him  through.  So,  for  many 
days  he  lay  balancing  between  life  and  death,  suspended,  as  it  were, 
by  a  burnt  cord,  which  the  gentlest  breath  might  sever.  After  the 


THREE    GENERATIONS.  149 

first  two  or  three  days,  not  a  sound  or  a  whisper  escaped  him,  until 
the  frail  bark  was  slowly  wafted  back  to  life.  For  days  he  lay  as  if 
in  a  trance.  He  heard  the  lowest  whisper  in  the  room;  and  when 
the  doctor  came  and  spoke  in  subdued  tones,  he  listened  eagerly  to 
what  he  said. 

"He  is  a  very  sick  man,"  said  the  doctor,  "but  the  climax  has 
passed,  and  with  no  drawback  he  will  continue  to  mend." 

Two  or  three  days  after  the  above  conversation,  Endura  was  sitting 
by  his  bedside.  Her  soft  hand  was  on  his  forehead.  She  heard  him 
whisper  her  name,  and  placing  her  head  nearer  his,  she  heard  her 
own  name  from  lips  called  back  from  death's  portal. 

"Endura,  must  I  live?" 

"Yes,  Donald.     You  are  getting  better,  but  you  must  not  talk." 

And  her  soft  hand  soothed  and  satisfied  him.  Slowly,  day  by  day, 
he  gained  strength  until  he  was  able  to  sit  up  in  bed.  His  recovery 
was  assured,  and  he  felt  calm  and  happy.  Endura  was  almost  con 
stantly  with  him,  and  read  to  him.  One  day  he  said  to  her: 

"  Endura,  I  would  rather  have  died,  and  when  I  heard  the  doctor 
say  I  was  to  get  well,  I  felt  sorry.  Now  I  am  so  happy — so  glad  to 
come  back  to  life;  to  be  with  you  for  a  little  while  longer.  You  were 
with  me  upon  the  very  brink  of  the  dark  river,  and  had  I  crossed 
over  you  would  have  accompanied  me.  Your  better  part  was  with 
me  even  in  the  valley  and  shadow  of  death.  And  now  I  have  come 
back  to  you  for  a  brief  season.  In  life  and  death  you  have  been 
mine.  Who  could  ask  for  more?" 

From  that  time  forward,  Donald  improved  rapidly.  His  appetite 
increased  faster  than  his  system  could  absorb  what  he  ate.  He  was 
obliged  to  be  careful  and  eat  moderately  of  what  was  set  before  him, 
and  especially  careful  and  self-denying  as  to  the  very  things  he  most 
craved.  Those  good  old  New  England  boiled  dinners  made  his 
mouth  water,  but  he  was  not  allowed  scarcely  a  taste  of  them.  In 
time  he  attempted  to  walk  around,  but  it  seemed  as  if  his  limbs 
would  not  bear  him.  The  bright  summer  mornings  would  find  him 
upon  the  porch  or  in  the  garden  until  breakfast,  when  he  indulged  in 
that  great  luxury,  a  New  England  farmer's  breakfast. 

The  summer  was  far  advanced  into  July,  and  the  sharp  scythe  was 
brought  out  that  was  to  lay  low  the  emerald  grass.  And  then  the 


150  ENDURA:  OR, 

meadow  was  the  center  of  interest.  The  perfume  of  the  new  mown 
hay  went  up  like  an  incense  from  every  field  throughout  the  land. 
The  voices  of  hay-makers  were  heard  in  the  valley  and  upon  the  hill 
side.  Great  loads  moved  hither  and  thither  to  the  places  of  storage. 

Donald  could  not  help  going  into  the  field  and  mingling  with  the 
men,  as  if  to  live  over  again  the  days  that  were  past.  He  would 
take  a  scythe  and  mow  a  few  sweeps,  when  his  strength  would  give 
out  and  he  would  be  obliged  to  sit  down  and  rest.  At  last  nature 
would  give  way  and  he  would  return  to  the  house  exhausted.  But  he 
remembered  the  seductive  shade  that  had  been  so  near  his  death  and 
passed  it  by. 

One  day  as  he  returned  from  one  of  his  rambles  Endura  met  him 
at  the  door.  Joy  was  depicted  in  her  countenance  as  she  held  up  a 
letter,  the  second  she  had  received  from  Rodney  since  he  left  for  his 
home  in  the  South. 

"  Oh  !  Donald,  he  speaks  of  you  so  kindly  and  says  he  hopes  you 
are  quite  recovered,"  said  she  as  they  sat  upon  the  porch  together. 

"  If  you  loved  me  as  you  do  Rodney,  I  could  speak  well  of  all  the 
world.  As  it  is,  I  have  naught  against  a  living  soul.  And  Rodney 
Haywood  above  all  others  I  wish  to  consider  my  friend,  for  well  as 
sured  am  I  that  while  we  are  friendly  you  will  love  me  just  a  little." 

"  Donald,  you  can  never  know  how  much  I  have  loved  you.  Some 
times  I  fear  it  is  wrong.  I  think  that  perhaps  some  great  punishment 
will  befall  me  for — 

« For  what,  Endura?" 

"  For  loving  you  too  well, — better  far  than  I  have  loved  my  own 
brother ! " 

"  To  love  is  Godlike — God  is  love — and  the  most  sacred  attribute 
of  God  or  man  is  love ;  and  the  more  we  love  the  greater  our  reward." 

"  Yes,  Donald,  but  there  are  so  many  degrees  of  love — a  parent's, 
a  husband's  or  a  wife's  love;  a  sister's  or  a  brother's  love;  the  love 
of  nature  ;  an  inward  gratitude  for  life  and  its  blessings ;  a  love  for 
children;  a  love  for  our  friends  ;  love  of  flowers  and  things  beautiful ; 
love  for  dumb  animals  whose  gratitude  repays  us  tenfold  ;  a  love  for 
all  the  minor  objects  of  life  which  make  us  happier  and  better  for  their 
existence." 

"  To  which  class  do  I  belong,  Endura  ?    To  the  first  or  the  last  ?  " 


THREE   GENERATIONS.  151 

"  Not  to  the  last,  certainly.  But  now  I  must  read  you  Rodney's 
letter." 

"All  of  it,  Endura?" 

"Well,  if  I  omit  a  part  you  must  think  you  should  not  hear  it." 

"'My Endura—'" 

"  Excuse  me,  but  you  must  have  omitted  something." 
"Oh,  yes.     I  forgot  to  say,  '  New  Orleans,  June  3oth,  18 — .'" 
'*  And  did  you  not  omit  one  other  little  word  ?  " 
"Well,  I'll  begin  again." 

"  '  MY  DARLING  ENDURA  :  Here  I  am  in  the  midst  of  cotton  and 
Creoles.  It  is  excessively  hot,  and  it  is  feared  there  will  be  a  great 
deal  of  sickness  during  the  summer.  I  long  for  a  sniff  of  the  New 
England  air.  For  a  ramble  through  the  beautiful  woods,  for  a  drive 
on  her  flower-bordered  highways,  for  a  bath  in  the  beautiful  streams, 
for  a  rest  beneath  the  grand  old  oaks  and  for  one  embrace' — there, 
I  did  not  intend  to  read  that,  so  please  consider  it  not  read." 

"  No,  go  on.     'One  embrace' — let  me  finish   the   sentence — 'of 
the  loveliest  creature  among  all  things  lovely — '  " 
"  No,  that  is  not  it.     I  will  continue  : " 

"'I  was  pained  to  learn  of  the  severe  illness  of  Mr.  Kent,  but  I 
should  consider  myself  but  too  happy  to  be  sick  with  such  a  nurse  as 
I  am  sure  you  would  be.  I  sincerely  hope  he  is  recovered  ere  this, 
for  too  much  sympathy  may  ripen  into  love.  But  I  must  not  think 
of  what  might  be  ;  I  only  know  what  is.' " 

"Poor  fellow  !  He  does  not  know  what  is.  And  it  is  well  he  does 
not,  or  he  would  not  be  so  happy  and  full  of  hope,  Still,  may  curses 
descend  upon  me,  if  I  knowingly  blot  out  one  ray  of  hope  from  his 
fair  sky.  We  know  each  other,  and  so  knowing,  it  shall  be  mine  to 
guard  both  our  honors.  When  you  write  him,  Endura,  ask  him  to 
drop  me  a  line  in  Boston,  where  I  expect  to  be  within  a  week,  and 
tell  him  that  my  greatest  happiness  shall  be  in  knowing  that  he  is 
worthy  my  adopted  sister.  But  read  on  ;  surely  you  are  not  through." 

"  Well,  no  ;  but  all  the  rest  is  about  business  and  the  weather  and 
the  negroes,  you  know,  and  I  guess  you  don't  care  for  that.  Now  you 
tell  me  you  are  going  away,  and  I  shall  be  alone  and  so  lonely." 

"  It  is  best  that  I  go.  I  feel  as  Adam  must  have  felt  when  he  was 
driven  out  of  paradise,  when  I  think  of  leaving  you ;  but  I  know  I 


I52  ENDURA  :    OR, 

must  go,  and  I  feel  I  am  punished  for  much  the  same  as  was  Adam." 
In  three  days  Donald  was  back  in  his  old  quarters,  in  the  metropo 
lis  of  New  England,  where  he  was  most  cordially  welcomed  by  his 
patrons  and  friends.  Let  us  leave  him  for  a  time  and  turn  to  other 
characters  who  have  found  a  place  in  this  story. 


THREE    GENERATIONS.  153 


CHAPTER    XVIII. 

PROVIDING     FOR    PAUPERS. 

In  faith  and  hope  the  world  will  disagree, 
But  all  mankind's  concern  is  charity. 

— Pope's  Moral  Essay. 

IN  some  of  the  New  England  towns  it  has  been  a  custom  from 
time  immemorial  to  farm  out  the  poor.  There  have  scarcely 
been  paupers  enough  to  warrant  the  building  of  a  poor-house,  so  that 
the  disposing  of  such  unfortunates  in  some  way  became  a  matter  of 
necessity.  Usually,  at  the  June  town  meeting,  several  of  these  de 
pendent  creatures  were  struck  off  to  the  lowest  bidder;  as,  for  in 
stance,  some  poor  old  man  or  woman  who  could  not  support  them 
selves  were  put  up  at  auction.  If  it  was  supposed  to  be  worth  two 
dollars  a  week  to  support  them,  and  any  one  who  was  responsible 
would  agree  to  take  them  for  one  dollar,  believing  that  the  person 
could  earn  enough  to  half  pay  for  keeping  them,  he  or  she  was 
awarded  to  such  person,  provided  no  one  would  agree  to  take  them 
for  less. 

About  the  time  that  Donald  Kent  left  for  the  city,  the  town  meet 
ing  took  place,  at  which  quite  a  number  of  the  poor  of  the  town  were 
to  be  auctioned  off.  General  Ivers,  being  the  "overseer  of  the  poor," 
was  the  one  whose  duty  it  was  to  provide  such  with  temporary  homes. 

Among  those  who  were  to  be  let  out  upon  that  particular  occasion 
was  the  Widow  Cramp,  who  was  quite  aged,  but  by  no  means  an  im 
becile.  She  could  knit  and  sew  some,  and  as  mending  was  an  item 
where  there  were  several  boys  in  a  family,  she  could  make  herself 
quite  useful.  A  neighboring  farmer,  who  had  a  large  family,  finally 
agreed  to  take  care  of  her  for  one  dollar  a  week. 

The  next  to  be  bid  for  was  Miss  Cutting,  a  "  maiden  lady,"  as  Gen 
eral  Ivers  rather  facetiously  remarked  as  he  named  the  person  to  be 
bid  for.  He  said  she  was  not  so  old  as  the  Widow  Cramp,  and 
would  be  an  agreeable  companion  for  a  woman  whose  husband  was 
away  from  home  a  great  deal.  He  said  she  was  a  good  talker  and 


154  ENDURA:   OR, 

very  pious;  she  could  spin,  or  sew,  or  knit,  and  was  entertaining  to 
strangers.  The  last  remark  was  emphasized  so  strongly  that  it  almost 
implied  that  she  was  not  particularly  entertaining  to  anyone  else.  She 
was  "knocked  down"  to  a  neighbor  who  said  he  would  give  her  a 
home  for  seventy-five  cents  a  week. 

The  next  was  a  blind  man  who  was  secured  by  another  neighbor 
for  fifty  cents  a  week.  He  could  milk,  turn  the  grindstone,  thresh 
grain  and  churn  butter,  and  was  considered  a  useful  man  to  have 
around. 

All  of  the  paupers  were  finally  disposed  of,  and  then  there  was  the 
meager  effects  of  one  or  two  paupers  who  had  died,  to  be  put  up  and 
sold.  One  spinning  wheel,  one  reel,  one  old  rocking-chair,  a  tin 
coffee-pot,  a  broken  looking-glass,  four  broken  plates,  three  cups  and 
saucers,  an  old  silver  watch,  a  snuff-box,  one  silk  handkerchief,  two 
silver  spoons,  one  old  iron  candlestick,  a  pair  of  snuffers,  etc.,  all  of 
which  were  knocked  down  to  the  highest  bidder,  realizing  in  the  ag 
gregate  about  seven  or  eight  dollars,  enriching  the  town  to  that  extent. 

When  General  Ivers  returned  home  who  should  be  at  his  house 
but  the  same  "  maiden  lady"  he  had  eulogized  so  highly.  She  was 
told  that  Mr.  Jenkins  had  agreed  to  take  care  of  her,  which  informa 
tion  did  not  seem  to  be  satisfactory  to  the  lady  herself,  and  she  then 
and  there  positively  refused  to  make  her  home  at  the  house  of  the 
aforesaid  Jenkins.  She  gave  her  opinion  of  the  man  who  would 
take  her  liberty  in  his  hand  to  dispose  of  it  as  he  might  see  fit.  She 
said  Mrs.  Tartar  would  have  taken  her  for  less.  The  General  said 
he  was  sorry  Mrs.  Tartar  had  not  been  there  to  bid,  but,  as  it  was, 
there  was  no  alternative  but  for  her  to  go  peaceably  or  otherwise. 

Of  course  there  was  nothing  left  but  for  Miss  Cutting  to  go  off  with 
Mr.  Jenkins,  which  she  was  finally  persuaded  to  do. 

There  was  a  startling  piece  of  information  come  to  the  ears  of 
General  Ivers  while  he  was  at  the  village.  It  was  nothing  less  than 
the  return  of  Joe  Tartar,  and  it  was  said  he  was  a  changed  man. 
He  had  arrived  that  very  day  from  a  three-years'  voyage  at  sea,  where 
it  was  said  he  had  done  remarkably  well.  He  had  visited^California 
and  the  gold  mines,  and  had  been  in  British  Columbia,  and  away  in 
the  Arctic  Ocean.  He  had  seen  all  kinds  of  wild  life,  and  now  he 
had  returned  to  settle  down  at  his  old  home  to  comfort  and  care  for 


THREE    GENERATIONS.  155 

his  aged  mother.  Everyone  spoke  of  the  great  change  for  the  better. 
He  applied  himself  to  work,  assisting  his  mother  to  fix  up  the  place 
so  that  in  a  short  time  there  was  really  great  changes  for  the  better. 

General  Ivors  was  heard  to  say  that  it  had  been  the  making  of  Joe, 
being  obliged  to  go  away  as  he  did.  In  view  of  the  great  moral 
change  all  the  past  was  soon  forgotten.  He  visited  General  Ivers 
and  others-  the  best  people  in  the  town.  In  a  short  time  he  pur 
chased  a  fine  horse  and  buggy,  in  which  he  rode  around  the  country 
to  the  envy  of  half  the  poor  young  men  in  the  neighborhood.  Still, 
not  one  word  was  said  against  his  character,  and  the  only  wonder  ex 
pressed  was  that  there  could  have  been  such  a  complete  trans 
formation. 

Mr.  Tartar,  as  they  began  to  call  him,  was  becoming  somewhat 
important  in  the  community,  and  the  neighbors  really  began  to  think 
of  giving  him  some  office  in  the  town.  He  managed  his  mother's 
farm  with  considerable  ability,  and  made  many  suggestions  for  the 
improvement  of  the  public  institutions  of  the  the  town,  which  were 
somewhat  neglected,  some  of  which  suggestions  were  adopted  to  the 
great  credit  and  interest  of  the  place. 

Joe  Tartar  was  rather  prodigal  in  his  expenditures,  especially  with 
other  people's  money.  But  the  neighbors  rather  liked  him  for  that 
unless  it  happened  to  touch  their  own  pockets.  He  advocated  a 
thorough  repairing  of  the  district  school  house,  and  the  putting  in 
order  of  the  highways,  building  bridges,  and  even  the  opening  of 
new  roads,  where  there  had  never  been  anything  but  "  drift  ways" 
and  rough,  narrow  paths. 

It  really  did  seem  that  Joe  Tartar  had  reformed,  or  rather  that  ex 
perience  and  practical  education  abroad  had  fitted  him  for  the  real 
business  of  life.  In  short,  it  had  made  him  a  useful  citizen.  Still, 
there  were  a  few  who  did  not  entirely  believe  in  his  complete  and 
lasting  reform.  Certain  things  occurred  from  time  to  time  which 
convinced  them  that  his  apparent  reform  was  mostly,  if  not  altogether, 
on  the  surface.  But  a  majority  seemed  willing  to  believe  he  was 
what  he  appeared  to  be. 

The  name  of  the  law  firm  with  which  Donald  Kent  studied  was 
Stern  &  Strong.  Their  office  as  situated  on  Berwick  Square. 
From  the  front  windows  they  could  look  far  down  the  bay,  and  see 


156  ENDURA:   OR, 

the  shipping  as  it  came  and  went.  The  great  English  steamships 
with  their  red  and  blue  smoke-stacks,  were  always  objects  of  interest 
to  Donald  Kent  from  the  time  he  first  entered  the  office,  until  he  left 
it  for  a  time  to  return  to  his  old  home.  He  used  to  wonder  if  he 
should  ever  make  a  voyage  in  one  of  those  leviathans  of  the  deep; 

and  when  he   told  his  friends  in  S that  the  famous  Cunarders 

went  out  upon  their  long  ocean  journey,  in  full  view  from  his 
office  window  it  was  so  graphic  that  the  listeners  almost  imagined 
that  they  could  hear  the  pent  steam  as  it  escaped  from  the  valve,  or 
the  tinkle  of  the  Captain's  bell  that  said  to  the  engineer,  "go  ahead." 

When  young  Kent  reached  the  office,  the  first  to  welcome  him  was 
Mr.  Stern  who  appeared  delighted  to  have  him  return,  and  looking  so 
much  better  after  his  alarming  illness.  Soon  Mr.  Strong  came  in  and 
congratulated  him  upon  his  recovery.  He  then  said : 

"  We  were  on  the  point  of  sending  for  you,  thinking  that  perhaps 
a  sea  voyage  would  do  you  good,  and  having  a  matter  to  look  into 
in  France,  we  concluded  to  have  you  go  over  and  investigate  it.  It 
will  be  ten  days  before  the  Europa  sails;  in  the  meantime  you  can 
make  preparations  and  get  thoroughly  posted  in  the  matter.  There 
has  been  a  liberal  appropriation  for  the  service  with  a  large  contin 
gent  fee,  one-half  of  which  will  be  allowed  you  personally  in  case  of 
success. 

"  You  are  to  go  in  the  interest  of  some  heirs,  who  make  claims 
against  a  very  large  estate,  and  the  proof  seems  to  be  conclusive.  The 
direct  heir  is  missing,  but  it  is  quite  evident  that  the  one  who  has 
undertaken  to  unravel  the  mystery  is  the  next  in  line. 

"It  is  one  of  those  cases  where  it  is  said  certain  property  was  con 
fiscated  by  the  crown  under  the  belief  that  the  owner  was  disloyal, 
and  had  fled  to  this  country.  But  after  years  it  was  learned  that  the 
estate  was  illegally  held,  and  efforts  were  made  to  discover  the  heirs. 
The  original  owner  had  never  been  heard  of,  but  it  is  believed  that  we 
have  a  clew  to  the  heirs.  It  is  supposed  that  the  property  in  question 
carried  with  it  a  title  of  which  the  owner  was  shorn,  at  the  time  his 
estate  was  taken  from  him,  which  was  at  the  time  Napoleon  Bonapart 
laid  hands  upon  the  empire,  and  shook  the  world  from  centre  to  cir 
cumference.  When  that  great  warrior  was  defeated,  and  found  a 
home  upon  the  lonely  island  in  the  far-off  Pacific,  Louis  XVIII.  was 


THREE    GENERATIONS.  157 

again  placed  upon  the  throne  of  France,  and  his  scattered  adherents 
were  called  back  to  their  beloved  country,  and  their  estates  returned 
to  them.  The  estate  in  question  was  one  of  those  which  should  have 
been  so  restored. 

Donald  Kent  was  in  every  way  qualified  to  undertake  such  a  mis 
sion.  He  was  an  excellent  French  scholar,  and  his  knowledge  of  in 
ternational  law  was  something  phenomenal.  He  having  given  it  much 
study,  and  interested  himself  in  some  measures,  which  had  escaped 
the  attention  of  some  of  the  best  lawyers  of  the  day,  he  could  not 
help  feeling  a  certain  pride  at  being  selected  to  undertake  so  impor 
tant  a  matter.  Indeed,  it  was  difficult  for  him  to  realize  that  he  was 
really  to  make  a  voyage  across  the  Atlantic.  He  thanked  his  em 
ployers  for  intrusting  to  him  an  undertaking  of  such  magnitude, 
"And,"  said  he,  "while  I  shall  do  my  utmost  to  make  it  a  success,  I 
cannot  but  have  misgivings  as  to  my  competency  to  fulfill  the  duty  you 
assign  me,  and  much  as  I  should  like  to  make  the  voyage,  which  has 
long  been  one  motive  of  my  life,  still  I  feel  that  greater  age  and  ex 
perience  is  demanded  in  a  case  so  complicated  and  so  important." 

Mr.  Stern  said  he  had  talked  the  matter  over  with  Mr.  Strong,  who 
fully  agreed  with  him  that  he  (Donald  Kent)  was  the  best  qualified  to 
undertake  the  matter  of  any  one  of  their  acquaintances  ;  and  farther, 
the  retaining  fee  was  large,  and  would  insure  something  whether  any 
thing  beyond  it  should  be  recovered  or  not. 

"If  fortune  should  favor  you  the  fee  will  be  the  largest  ever  secured 
and  will  make  you  independent  for  life,"  said  Mr.  Stern. 

It  was  very  flattering  to  Donald,  his  being  offered  the  management 
of  a  case  in  which  such  a  vast  amount  was  involved,  and  it  was  with 

a  glowing  pride  that  he  wrote  to  his  friends  in  S ,  of  his  great, 

good  fortune. 

With  the  young,  Time  moves  with  clogged  wheels.  How  impa 
tiently  we  await  hoped-for  pleasures.  How  we  look  foward  to  a  con 
summation  which  is  devoutly  wished  for.  Knowing  as  we  do  that  it 
but  brings  us  nearer  to  the  dark  portal,  where  all  earthly  hopes  and 
pleasures  must  cease.  We  would  know  just  that  joy.  We  would 
realize  just  that  hope.  And  yet  that  conscience  which  was  Scipio's 
slave,  whispers:  "Beware!" 

Age  creeps  on;  Time  flies.     The  days   which   once   seemed  like 


158  ENDURA  :     OR, 

weeks,    now  are   but   hours.     Weeks,  days,  and  months,  weeks.     A 
year  passes  and  we  wonder  that  we  have  accomplished  so  little. 
With  Donald  Kent,  the  days  moved  never  so  slow,  but — 

"  The  unwearied  sun,  from  day  to  day, 
Doth  the  Creator's  power  display, 
And  publishes  in  every  land, 
The  work  of  an  Almighty  hand." 

As  the  sun  sank  in  the  West,  for  the  last  time  before  the  day  upon 
which  Donald  was  to  take  his  leave  of  his  friends  and  his  country, 
a  shadow  of  melancholy  came  over  him.  For  the  first  time  he 
realized  that  on  the  morrow  he  would  be  out  upon  the  ocean,  on  his 
way  to  a  strange  land,  and  it  might  be  years  ere  he  looked  upon 
those  familiar  scenes  again. 

Donald  remained  in  the  office  after  all  the  others  had  left,  and 
wrote  some,  and  thought  a  great  deal.  It  was  getting  late,  and  yet 
he  felt  no  inclination  to  retire.  He  laid  his  head  upon  his  desk,  and 
thought,  and  as  he  thought,  tears  of  gratitude  fell  thick  and  fast;  and 
then  a  sudden  shock  would  dry  them  instantly,  and  a  groan  would 
escape  from  the  overcharged  soul,  that  told  of  gloomy  forebodings, 
of  the  great  undertaking  and  responsibility  he  was  about  to  assume, 
and  of  the  very  uncertain  result.  He  did  not  think  of  the  months 
and  years  that  would  intervene  so  much  as  he  did  of  his  final  suc 
cess.  It  was  well  that  he  did  not  know  the  secret  feelings  of  his 
principals,  neither  of  which  had  much  confidence  in  his  success  • 
but  both  encouraged  him,  and  talked  of  the  favorable  termination, 
and  of  the  name  and  position  it  would  give  him  ;  at  the  same  time 
they  both  advised  him  not  to  expect  too  much,  but  to  be  prepared  for 
dissapointment  and  possibly  ultimate  defeat.  While  he  silently 
prayed  and  hoped  for  success,  there  was  something  which  arose  be 
fore  him  like  a  barrier  to  be  surmounted,  which  his  young  soul  was 
determined  to  overcome.  He  little  knew  what  he  would  be  called 
upon  to  endure  ere  he  could  say,  "  It  is  done." 

He  went  to  his  lodgings,  but  sleep  came  not.  The  night  was  far 
spent  and  the  young  lawyer  had  not  slept.  Aurora  came  forth  in  her 
glorious  car,  a  courier  of  the  god  of  day.  At  last  the  sun  burst 
forth  in  all  his  splendor,  to  none  more  welcome  than  to  him,  who  was 
about  to  exile  himself  for  a  time,  from  all  he  held  dear  on  earth. 


THREE    GENERATIONS.  159 

Messrs.  Stern  &  Strong  were  at  the  office  early,  in  order  that  every 
thing  might  be  done  to  assist  their  protege,  and  give  him  their  final 
advice. 

At  last  he  was  fairly  on  board,  his  trunk  was  stowed  away  and  his 
small  luggage  piled  in  his  stateroom,  while  he  waved  a  last  adieu  from 
the  steamer's  deck  as  she  swung  gracefully  into  the  stream  and  her 
ponderous  engines  began  to  move.  Donald  remained  on  deck  as 
the  good  ship  glided  down  the  harbor  and  pointed  her  storm-tried 
prow  toward  the  great  ocean.  For  the  first  four  days,  he  saw 
no  one  except  the  steward,  who  brought  him  his  gruel  and  took  care 
of  his  room ;  on  the  fifth  day,  the  weather  being  fine,  he  felt  some 
what  better  and  so  upon  the  sixth  and  seventh,  when  the  weather 
became  threatening  and  the  sea  grew  rough.  It  was  evident  that 
they  were  to  have  a  storm.  They  were  in  mid-ocean  and  there  was 
but  one  thing  for  them  to  do,  and  that  was  to  prepare  for  the 
encounter,  which  good  sailors  know  well  how  to  do,  and  the  Europa 
carried  a  splendid  crew. 

The  officers  and  sailors  were  all  English,  and  those  who  have  gone 
down  to  the  sea  in  ships,  with  English  officers,  know  what  good  dis 
cipline  is. 

The  storm  was  severe,  but  the  steamer  had  encountered  many 
that  were  more  so.  The  officers  and  men  did  not  seem  to  mind  the 
terrible  laboring  of  the  ship,  as  she  struggled  through  the  tremendous 
seas.  Often  when  a  great  wave  would  mount  to  the  hurricane  deck 
or  deluge  her  companion-ways,  a  shout  would  go  up  as  if  in  defiance 
of  the  storm  king ;  and  when  her  bows  would  be  buried  deep  beneath 
the  foam,  they  watched  her  calmly,  well  knowing  that  she  would  rise 
again,  unharmed,  to  meet  another  mountain  wave. 

Thus  the  steamer  labored  for  twenty-four  hours,  still  keeping  on 
her  course — a  lonely  ship  on  a  stormy  sea.  Donald  did  not  realize 
that  there  was  any  danger.  He  knew  no  fear,  but  he  was  as 
miserable  as  fearful  sea-sickness  could  possibly  make  him.  On  the 
eighth  day  the  storm  had  abated,  but  still  the  sea  ran  very  high  and 
the  motion  of  the  ship  was  not  conducive  to  a  landsman's  happiness. 
On  the  ninth  day  it  was  much  calmer,  and  a  few  of  the  passengers 
came  on  deck  to  take  a  look  at  the  ocean  that  had  so  shaken  and 
tossed  them  for  forty-eight  hours.  Onward  the  good  ship  goes — now 


160  ENDURA:  OR, 

plunging  into  a  sea,  and  now  rising  upon  another.  Water,  water 
everywhere! 

Eleven  days  had  elapsed  since  they  left  Boston.  They  had  hoped 
to  have  been  in  Liverpool  by  this  time.  The  passengers  were  daily 
posted  as  to  the  position  of  the  ship,  and  they  strained  their  eyes  to 
catch  the  first  outline  of  the  Irish  Coast. 

It  was  toward  the  evening  of  the  twelfth  day  that  there  went  up 
the  cry  of  "Land!  ho!"  Many  looked  in  vain.  When,  at  last,  they 
concluded  that  they  really  did  see  land  once  more,  their  delight  was 
boundless,  until,  all  at  once,  their  land  settled  into  ocean,  and  all 
was  water  again.  Some  who  had  been  often  fooled  themselves,  called 
the  illusion  '"  Cape  Flyaway." 

One  after  another  declared  that  they  really  saw  land,  while  others, 
who  had  made  the  assertion  before  and  then  lost  sight  of  it,  were 
rather  skeptical.  The  more  knowing  ones  were  quite  confident,  and 
tried  to  point  out  the  outlines  of  some  highlands  which,  they  said, 
were  quite  plain. 

There  is  usually  an  oracle  on  ship-board — one  who  has  made  the 
voyage  before,  and  he  is  often  appealed  to  to  verify  this  or  that 
opinion,  and  it  does  not  matter  what  his  opinion  is,  it  must  be 
accepted  until  better  authority  is  had. 

Those  who  have  made  long  voyages  at  sea,  know  with  what  anxiety 
they  look  for  land.  It  matters  little  if  it  be  calm  or  storm,  they  are 
on  deck  when  they  draw  near  their  journey's  end. 

The  morning  of  the  thirteenth  day  rose  bright  and  clear,  and  there, 
in  full  view,  stood  the  headlands  which  shoot  out  from  the  Irish 
Coast.  Away  to  the  north,  dark  and  bold,  rose  "  Dunmore  Head;" 
to  the  south  was  "  Mizen  Head ;"  stretching  away  to  south  and 
east,  was  an  arm  of  the  Atlantic;  and  beyond,  St.  George's  Channel' 
and  the  Irish  Sea. 

It  was  said  that  they  were  nearing  Queenstown,  where  the  steamer 
was  to  touch,  and  leave  the  mail  and  some  passengers  before  she 
crossed  over  to  Liverpool.  As  they  sailed  up  along  the  Irish  Coast, 
every  scene,  as  it  came  in  view,  was  more  beautiful  than  the  one 
before.  All  were  loud  in  their  praises  of  the  beautiful  land  before 
them,  and  some  remarks  were  indulged  in  regarding  its  unhappy 
condition. 


THREE    GENERATIONS.  l6l 

There  are  generally  two  sides  to  a  question,  and  it  is  a  rash  man 
that  boldly  takes  either  one  or  the  other  side  when  England's  policy 
toward  Ireland  is  discussed.  Whether  another  nation  would  have 
been  more  liberal  or  more  severe,  can  never  be  known ;  or,  if  the 
people  were  left  to  govern  themselves,  is  it  at  all  likely  their  condition 
would  be  improved?  It  is  scarcely  possible,  and  certain  it  is,  no 
great  power  wishes  to  adopt  them  or  assume  their  quarrels.  Since 
England  has  the  unruly  children,  like  another  parent,  she  alone  is 
expected  to  manage  and  take  care  of  them. 

The  good  old  ship  steamed  into  Queenstown  harbor,  and  the  pas 
sengers  were  all  anxious  to  go  on  shore;  a  great  many  did  so,  Don 
ald  Kent  among  the  number.  As  he  walked  up  the  dock  strange 
feelings  came  over  him.  He  said  to  himself,  "  This  is  Ireland,  the 
land  of  sorrow  and  of  song,  the  land  to  which  many  an  exile  had 
turned  with  melancholy  thoughts,"  as  sweet  memories  awoke  the  dim 
ming  past.  Whatever  might  have  been  his  home,  however  mean  its 
surroundings,  whatever  sufferings  he  may  have  endured  from  cold  or 
hunger,  still  there  were  pleasant  memories  of  that  far-off  past.  The 
hovel  with  love's  charm  became  a  palace,  and  every  loved  spot  a 
shrine  revered  and  sacred. 

Donald  saw  nothing  around  him  to  inspire  him.  On  the  con 
trary  squalor  and  suffering  was  everywhere  present;  but  amid  it  all 
there  appeared  a  kind  of  forced  happiness,  which  seemed  to  say,  "  I 
will  be  happy  in  spite,  of  my  surroundings." 

The  young  man  seemed  to  comprehend  it  all.  He  said  to  him 
self,  "  This  is  the  real,  what  we  saw  as  we  sailed  up  the  coast,  was 
the  ideal  Ireland."  Perhaps  it  was  the  recollection  of  those  loved 
scenes  and  the  assurance  of  something  more  beautiful  beyond  that 
thrilled  him  and  filled  his  soul  with  a  longing  to  see  and  know  more 
of  the  lovely  country  beyond  the  hills. 

But  the  steamer's  stay  in  port  was  but  short,  and  our  hero  hastened 
back  to  board  her  and  complete  his  journey,  mentally  determining 
to  visit  the  green  Island  when  he  could  spare  time  to  learn  more  of 
its  institutions  and  its  people. 

It  is  scarcely  a  day's  run  from  Queenstown  to  Liverpool ;  and  for 
one  hundred  miles  it  is  along  the  coast  of  Ireland,  up  the  channel, 
every  mile  of  which  is  fraught  with  unflagging  interest;  on  the  left 


1 62  ENDURA  :    OR, 

the  ever  present  highlands  of  "Erin  so  green,"  while  around,  before, 
and  behind  is  life  on  the  wing.  Ships  going  and  coming  in  every 
direction;  little  steamers  with  clouds  of  black  smoke  rolling  from  their 
funnels,  tugging  at  great  ships  or  shooting  like  arrows  when  loosened 
from  the  monsters  that  held  them  in  check.  Great  black  steamships 
steaming  away  to  distant  lands  or  returning  after  succesful  voyages  to 
their  havens  of  rest.  Smaller  crafts  flitting  like  swallows  hither  and 
thither,  skimming  the  water  with  scarcely  a  track,  so  light  and  so 
swift  they  fly.  Steamboats  plying  between  different  points  on  the 
Channel,  and  pleasure  yachts  going  no  one  knew  whither.  Some 
with  all  sail  set  with  a  fair  wind  speeding  on  their  course,  while  others 
tacked  and  beat  against  wind  and  tide.  Steam  yachts  running  at 
full  speed  as  though  they  defied  everything  before  them,  kept  on  their 
course. 

After  passing  Cainsore  Point  the  steamer  shoots  out  into  mid- 
channel  and  heads  northerly. 

The  land  of  poetry,  Patricks  and  potatoes  still  is  with  us.  Yonder 
are  the  Wicklow  mountains  and  there  towering  above  the  rest  is  Mt. 
Laguaguilla.  And  now  we  are  off  Dublin  Bay,  while  on  the  right  is 
Holyhead  and  the  coast  of  Wales. 

The  steamer  passes  well  around  Anglesey  Island  and  heads  direct 
for  Liverpool  where  the  voyage  by  steamer  is  to  end. 

Notwithstanding  the  great  interest  which  Donald  has  taken  in  the 
voyage  up  the  Channel  he  is  anxious  to  reach  the  end  of  his  ocean 
journey.  So  when  Liverpool  is  sighted  his  pulse  beats  quicker  at  the 
thought,  and  when  at  last  the  good  ship  enters  port  and  he  is  allowed 
to  set  foot  upon  English  soil,  he  feels  proud  in  the  knowledge  that 
good  old  England  is  indeed  his  mother,  the  mother  of  every  Ameri 
can.  True,  she  tried  to  manage  us  in  our  childhood,  but  unruly  and 
obstreperous  children  that  we  were,  we  refused  to  be  managed;  and 
after  trying  for  a  time  to  coerce,  better  counsels  prevailed  and  she 
left  us  to  shift  for  ourselves.  But  to-day  the  good  old  dame  is  proud 
of  her  naughty  children  and  the  time  is  not  far  distant  when  the  two 
greatest  nations  on  the  face  of  the  earth  will  have  interests  so  in  com 
mon  that  nothing  can  estrange  them. 

After  a  long  sea  voyage  the  sight  of  land   is    most  welcome,   and 


THREE    GENERATIONS. 


I63 

when  we  reach  the  port  where  we  are  to  rest  for  a  time,  we  feel  a 
kind  of  relief  as  though  one  distinct  act  of  our  lives  is  complete. 

We  are  willing  to  rest.  At  all  events  to  forget  the  ocean  and  its 
storms  for  pleasanter  scenes  on  the  land. 

Donald  was  delighted  to  get  on  shore  knowing  full  well  that  the 
work  mapped  out  for  him  was  not  yet  begun,  at  the  same  time,  little 
dreaming  what  it  would  be  necessary  for  him  to  do  ere  the  object 
and  purpose  of  his  journey  was  accomplished.  He  went  direct  to  a 
hotel,  determined  to  rest  for  two  or  three  days,  making  in  the  mean 
time  some  excursions  about  the  great  seaport.  He  determined  to  visit 
her  great  docks  and  public  institutions,  and  learn  more  of  the  people 
of  whom  he  had  heard  so  much.  He  had  letters  to  two  or  three 
gentlemen  correspondents  of  Messrs.  Stern  &  Strong,  also  a  letter  to 
the  United  States  Consul  from  one  who  had  been  formerly  a  school- 
mate  and  chum  of  the  honorable  gentleman,  all  of  which  he  deter 
mined  to  see  before  he  crossed  over  the  Channel. 

We  will  leave  him  with  his  friends  while  we  return  again  to  those 
who  missed  him  sorely  in  his  old  New  England  home. 


1 64  ENDURA  I     OR, 


CHAPTER  XIX. 

DONALD  RETURNS  TO  BOSTON. 

Friend  after  friend  departs  ;— 

Who  hath  not  lost  a  friend  ? 
There  is  no  union  here  of  hearts. 

That  hath  not  here  its  end. 

— Montgomery. 

WHEN  Donald  Kent  left  the  house  and  the  friends  with  whom  he 
had  been  so  happy,  where  cloud  and  sunshine  had  alternated 
in  his  heart  as  on  the  landscape,  he  was  lonely  indeed,  and  every 
mile  which  widened  the  gulf  between  him  and  those  he  honored  and 
loved  so  dearly  seemed  interminable. 

If  it  was  so  with  him,  how  much  more  so  must  it  have  been  with 
her  he  left  behind,  who  called  him  brother  so  lovingly,  so  sweetly. 
With  her  the  world  appeared  a  blank.  Her  affianced  gone  to  the  far 
off  south,  she  could  not  hope  or  expect  to  see  him  for  a  year  at 
least,  and  her  adopted  brother  had  returned  to  his  home  in  the  great 
city. 

True,  she  little  dreamed  that  Donald  would  be  absent  so  long.  So 
when  his  letter  came  stating  that  he  would  leave  so  soon  for  Europe 
the  wound  opened  afresh.  She  went  to  her  chamber  and  gave  her 
self  up  to  sorrow  and  disappointment. 

General  Ivers  said  he  was  glad  Donald  had  been  selected  to  inves 
tigate  the  matter.  He  said  he  believed  if  any  man  could  unravel  it 
he  could.  Mrs.  Ivers  almost  felt  as  if  it  were  her  own  boy  who  was 
going  so  far  away.  And  she  said  if  Donald  Kent  did  not  make  his 
mark  in  the  world  she  was  no  prophet ;  said  she,  "  He  was  born  to 
greatness  and  greatness  he  will  attain." 

Bernard  Ivers  had  about  finished  his  education,  and  it  was  begin 
ning  to  be  a  serious  question  what  he  should  do.  He  did  not  develop 
any  taste  or  special  ability  for  any  profession,  and  his  father  was  con 
siderably  exercised  as  to  what  he  would  do  for  a  livelihood.  He  was 
an  excellent  scholar  and  a  genial  companion,  but  he  did  not  appear 


THREE    GENERATIONS.  165 

to  be  ambitious  or  to  care  to  turn  his  talents  or  education  to  any  pur 
pose.  His  chum  at  school  was  the  son  of  a  wholesale  grocer  in  the 
city,  whose  father  had  made  considerable  money,  and  who  was  satis 
fied  that  his  son  should  follow  the  same  business.  He  was  "getting 
on  in  years,"  he  said,  and  if  his  boy  wanted  to  take  hold  of  the  busi 
ness  he  would  leave  it  to  him,  especially  if  he  could  get  young  Ivers 
to  go  in  with  him,  as  he  had  heard  such  good  accounts  of  the  young 
man,  and  knowing  the  General,  his  father,  as  he  did  to  be  a  gentle 
man  and  a  man  of  means.  He  proposed  to  his  son  to  speak  to  Ber 
nard  about  it,  and  say  to  him  that  he  would  furnish  half  the  capital 
if  General  Ivers  would  put  in  the  other  half. 

The  proposition  appeared  to  meet  the  young  man's  views,  and  he 
immediately  consulted  his  father  upon  the  subject,  who  was  inclined 
to  listen  to  the  proposition,  though  it  would  take  a  very  large  amount 
of  ready  money— much  more  than  General  Ivers  could  afford  or  even 
had.  But  he  thought  the  opportunity  too  good  to  be  lost,  and  both 
he  and  Mrs.  Ivers  thought  their  boy  was  fitted  for  something  better 
than  "  to  plow  and  sow,  to  reap  and  mow."  In  short,  he  was  too  well 
educated  to  come  home  and  farm  for  a  living.  It  is  a  mistake 
that  has  often  been  made,  and  parents  will  continue  to  make  it  so 
long  as  grass  grows  or  water  runs. 

General  Ivers  considered  the  advisability  of  his  raising  such  a  large 
sum  of  money  to  put  into  an  enterprise  that  would  be  beyond  his 
control. 

It  was  a  business  which  he  knew  nothing  about,  and  he  would  be 
obliged  to  rely  entirely  upon  his  son  to  look  after  his  interest.  The 
young  man  had  noble  instincts.  He  was  confiding  and  generous  to 
a  fault.  Naturally  genial  and  social  he  won  many  friends,  nor  stopped 
to  count  the  cost.  He  went  into  the  best  society  and  was  courted  by 
rich  and  poor.  If  he  occasionally  indulged  to  excess  it  was  over 
looked,  for  was  not  his  father  and  mother  of  the  salt  of  the  earth,  and 
had  not  his  grandfather  been  before  them  ?  How  could  it  be  possible 
with  such  ancestors  and  such  training  that  he  could  go  astray  ?  So 
thought  all  who  knew  Bernard  Ivers.  So  thought  his  father  and 
mother. 

The  young  man  who  had  been  his  chum  at  school,  was  more  cun 
ning.  He  saw  in  his  young  friend,  one  who  would  be  easily  led,  and 


*  ENDURA:   OR, 

he  had  learned  enough  of  his  father's  business  to  see  how  such  a  young 
man  could  be  made  useful  and  profitable.  He  had  told  his  father 
of  the  good  qualities  of  Bernard,  and  the  merchant  saw,  or  thought 
he  saw,  ability  in  his  son;  at  the  same  time  he  felt  that  he  could  give  his 
son  a  lift  without  risking  more  than  half  the  capital  he  then  had  in 
his  business;  besides  there  would  be  no  need  of  curtailing  the  large 
and  constantly  increasing  business.  The  merchant's  name  was  Wheat, 
and  his  son's  name  was  Charles  Wheat. 

Mr.  Wheat  wrote  to  General  Ivers,  saying  that  his  son,  Charles, 
had  taken  a  great  fancy  to  Bernard;  and  inasmuch  as  he  proposed  to 
retire  and  leave  his  business  with  his  son,  if  General  Ivers  thought  it 
advisable  to  have  Bernard  go  into  mercantile  business,  he  would 
withdraw  at  once.  He  said  he  had  no  doubt  but  that  the  young 
men  could  conduct  the  business  sucessfully,  and  that  it  would  be  the 
very  best  thing  that  they  could  do.  General  Ivers  replied,  thanking 
Mr.  Wheat  for  the  kind  offer,  but  said  at  the  same  time,  that  to  pay 
cash  for  one  half  of  the  stock,  would  require  rather  more  ready 
money  than  he  was  possessed  of,  which,  Mr.  Wheat  assured  him, 
would  make  no  difference,  as  General  Ivers  could  give  him  his  note 
for  whatever  balance  remained,  to  make  up  one  half  of  the  amount, 
as  it  would  be  a  pity  to  reduce  the  stock. 

After  some  further  negotiations,  it  was  settled  that  the  two  young 
men  should  join  fortunes  and  begin  business  under  the  firm  name  of 
Wheat  &  Ivers. 

It  was  a  masterstroke  of  policy  on  the  part  of  Mr.  Wheat.  Turn 
ing  as  he  did  half  his  stock  on  hand  into  ready  cash,  while  at  the 
same  time  he  virtually  controlled  the  whole,  the  same  as  before. 
Besides,  had  he  not  set  his  son  up  in  business  where  he  could  assist 
and  advise  him,  which  advice  coming  as  it  did  from  a  shrewd  experi 
enced  man  and  that  man  his  father,  was  of  the  utmost  importance  to 
the  son. 

On  the  other  hand  was  it  wise  for  General  Ivers  to  put  so  large  a 
portion  of  his  fortune  into  a  business  of  which  he  knew  next  to 
nothing,  and  his  son,  if  possible  less  ?  But  he  had  confidence  in  the 
merchant,  and  he  had  confidence  in  Bernard.  He  said  to  himself: 
"  Has  not  this  man  made  a  fortune  ?  And  is  not  his  son  better  pre- 


THREE    GENERATIONS.  167 

pared  to  add  to  it  than  his  father  was  to  lay  the  foundation  and  build 
upon  it  so  surely  and  so  substantially  ?  " 

The  good  man  really  believed  that  he  was  providentially  favored  in 
having  an  opportunity  of  putting  his  son  in  the  way  of  making  for 
himself  a  name  and  a  fortune.  So  thought  Mrs.  Ivers  and  other 
friends  of  the  family. 

Mr.  Haywood  met  the  General  a  few  days  after  the  consummation 
of  the  contract  and  congratulated  him  upon  his  good  fortune. 

Bernard  Ivers  was  delighted,  and  for  some  time  he  reported  faith 
fully  what  the  firm  was  doing.  After  some  months  the  reports  that 
came  were  meager  and  unsatisfactory.  Another  thing  that  appeared 
rather  strange,  Bernard  did  not  care  to  visit  his  home,  although 
pressed  to  do  so  by  all  the  family. 

General  Ivers  visited  the  city  from  time  to  time;  at  first  he  found 
Bernard  in  the  store,  but  seldom  occupied,  while  his  partner  appeared 
to  have  all  he  could  do.  Latterly,  when  the  General  called  to  see  his 
son  he  was  told  he  was  not  in,  often  he  did  not  see  him  during  his 

stay  in  town. 

It  had  gone  on  thus  for  nearly  a  year,  still  there  was  no  hint  by 
Mr.  Wheat  that  there  was  anything  wrong.  One  day  General  Ivers 
received  a  notice  that  the  note  given  for  a  portion  of  the  purchase 
money,  must  be  paid.  He  was  thunderstruck,  but  there  was  no 
alternative,  but  to  raise  the  money  and  cancel  the  note,  which  he  did 
by  mortgaging  his  place  very  heavily.  He  had  borrowed  some  from 
the  bank  of  which  he  was  a  director,  at  the  time  he  purchased  the 
half  interest  in  the  store. 

He  went  immediately  to  the  city  and  waited  upon  Mr.  Wheat,  who 
said  he  was  sorry  to  be  obliged  to  call  upon  him  for  the  money,  but 
he  was  about  making  some  large  investments  that  would  require 
every  dollar  he  could  raise. 

General  Ivers  told  him  that  it  was  his  privilege  to  demand  it,  and 
he  had  come  prepared  to  pay  it,  though  he  was  in  hopes  that  Ber 
nard  would  try  to  help,  and  pay  a  portion  of  it  himself.  The  money 
was  counted  out,  and  the  note  canceled,  after  which,  the  conversa 
tion  turned  upon  the  business.  Mr.  Wheat  said  the  business  was 
good,  so  good,  in  fact,  that  they  had  found  it  necessary  to  employ  an 
additional  clerk,  which  much  surprised  the  General. 


1 68  ENDURA:  OR, 

Gradually  it  came  out,  that  Bernard  was  seldom  at  the  store, 
which  so  alarmed  his  father,  that  he  insisted  on  knowing  more  of 
him  and  his  doings.  Mr.  Wheat  said  he  was  sorry  to  say  Bernard 
had  neglected  the  business  very  much,  and  more  than  that,  he  had 
drawn  so  heavily  from  the  funds  that  but  little,  if  anything,  remained 
of  the  amount  that  had  been  put  in  as  his  portion.  General  Ivers 
could  then  see  why  Mr.  Wheat  had  been  so  anxious  to  collect  the 
amount  for  which  the  note  had  been  given.  To  say  that  General 
Ivers  was  shocked  would  be  to  feebly  express  his  feelings. 

He  was  unmanned,  and  would  have  given  way  to  tears  had  he 
not  been  where  he  was.  As  it  was,  he  expressed  great  surprise  and 
sorrow,  and  said  he  must  see  Bernard  at  once.  He  was  told  that  he 
had  not  been  at  the  office  for  two  days,  which  distressed  the  good 
man  more  and  more.  He  tried  to  ascertain  where  he  spent  his  time, 
which  his  partner  pretended  not  to  know.  But  one  of  the  clerks 
said  he  could  sometimes  be  found  in  a  certain  saloon  not  far  away; 
but  if  he  was  there  at  that  time  he  could  not  say. 

The  distracted  father  bent  his  steps  thither,  where  he  met  a  man 
supposed  to  be  the  proprietor.  Upon  inquring  if  Mr.  Ivers  was 
there,  he  was  answered  in  the  negative;  at  the  same  time  something 
in  the  man's  manner  made  the  inquirer  suspicious.  He  asked  the 
man  when  he  saw  him  last,  and  was  told  the  day  before,  which  fact, 
if  it  were  a  fact,  went  to  prove  that  he  had  been  to  the  saloon  since 
he  had  been  to  his  office. 

General  Ivers  could  not  help  thinking  that  the  man  could  tell  him 
more  if  he  would.  But  he  returned  to  the  store  and  went  directly  to 
the  clerk  who  gave  him  the  clue,  and  asked  him  if  Bernard  did  not 
spend  most  of  his  time  in  and  about  the  aforesaid  saloon. 

The  young  man  admitted  as  much,  and  on  being  farther  pressed, 
he  said  he  usually  spent  his  afternoons  there  and  came  to  the  store 
very  late  the  next  day.  The  clerk  said  at  first  it  was  a  social  habit 
for  Bernard  to  take  a  friend  or  customer  over  and  treat  him.  After 
awhile  it  got  so  that  they  would  remain  and  play  a  game  of  billiards, 
or  a  little  game  of  poker.  The  habit  grew  upon  him  until  the  greater 
portion  of  his  time  was  spent  there  or  at  the  club,  of  which  he  was  a 
member,  where  cards  were  played  also,  and  large  sums  of  money 
were  lost  and  won. 


THREE    GENERATIONS.  169 

The  good  man  was  more  than  ever  determined  to  find  his  son. 
He  told  the  clerk  that  he  believed  that  Bernard  was  in  the  building 
in  one  place  or  another,  and  he  prevailed  upon  him  to  assist  him  to 
find  him.  This  the  young  man  consented  to  do,  and  volunteered  to 
go  and  try  at  the  same  place  where  he  had  directed  General  Ivers  to 
go.  The  proprietor,  believing  that  Mr.  Wheat  wanted  him,  and  had 
sent  for  him  as  he  had  often  done  before  when  he  was  wanted  for 
some  especial  purpose,  told  the  clerk  that  he  was  asleep,  but  as 
soon  as  he  awoke  he  would  tell  him  he  was  wanted  at  the  store, 
which  the  young  man  told  General  Ivers  upon  his  return. 

The  unhappy  father  could  not  wait,  but  went  forthwith  and  up 
braided  and  threatened  the  man  who  had  attempted  to  deceive  him 
by  pretending  not  to  know  of  Bernard's  whereabouts. 

The  man  had  very  little  to  say  in  his  own  behalf,  but  he  said  the 
young  man  did  not  wish  to  be  disturbed. 

General  Ivers  demanded  to  be  shown  where  his  son  was,  and  it 
appeared  to  the  saloon-keeper  that  there  was  no  alternative,  so  he 
told  the  General  to  follow  him,  which  he  did.  They  went  up-stairs, 
along  a  long  hall  to  the  farthest  end  of  the  building  until  they  came 
to  a  door  over  which  there  was  no  transom.  The  hall  at  this  place 
was  entirely  dark,  and  had  the  appearance  of  being  seldom  used. 

The  man  halted  at  the  door  and  listened;  but  there  was  not  a 
sound.  He  gave  a  gentle  knock;  still  he  heard  nothing.  Another 
and  harder  knock;  still  no  answer.  He  spoke;  but  no  one  answered. 
The  man  became  alarmed  and  tried  the  door  which  was  locked  on 
the  inside;  they  could  see  the  key.  There  was  nothing  to  be  done 
but  to  break  in  the  door,  which  they  determined  to  do. 

The  man  procured  an  ax,  and  a  few  blows  sufficed  to  do  the  work, 
when  horrible  to  behold!  there  lay  the  body  of  the  young  man 
stretched  upon  the  floor  quite  dead,  though  still  warm.  The  man 
was  dumb,  and  the  horror-stricken  father  fell  upon  his  son,  calling 
him  by  name  and  saying:  "What  have  I  done  that  this  great  curse 
should  come  upon  me." 

The  saloon-keeper  went  down  immediately  and  sent  word  to  the 
store.  Soon  after,  the  building  was  crowded  with  the  morbidly 
curious. 

The  body  was  taken  up  and  placed  upon  a  bed,  which  was  in  the 


ENDURA  :    OR, 

room,   when  General   Ivers   for  the  first  time  noticed  the  bloated  ap 
pearance  of  his  son. 

Upon  a  small  table  stood  a  bottle  and  a  tumbler.  The  former 
contained  about  a  gill  of  liquor  of  some  kind.  The  tumbler  was 
quite  empty,  but  upon  examination  there  appeared  to  be  a  sediment 
of  some  kind  which  had  settled  in  the  bottom.  The  tumbler  was 
taken  care  of,  as  well  as  the  bottle,  and  immediate  measures  were 
taken  for  the  removal  of  the  body,  which  was  taken  to  the  under 
takers  preparatory  to  an  autopsy  which  it  was  decided  should  be 
had.  The  Coroner  was  called  and  the  facts  related  as  above.  The 
liquor  was  analyzed  and  found  to  contain  arsenic  which  was  found 
also  in  the  dregs  in  the  tumbler. 

Thus  it  was  apparent  to  all  that  it  was  a  case  of  suicide,  and  upon 
farther  examination  it  was  so  found  by  the  Coroner. 

The  body  was  then  dressed  and  placed  in  an  elegant  casket  ready 
to  be  taken  home  to  the  family  burying  ground,  where  the  remains 
of  the  good  old  squire  and  his  wife  had  rested  for  so  many  years. 
Poor  Sally  Vic's  earthly  remains  lay  near  by,  and  now  the  first  bone 
of  the  third  generation  must  sleep  with  them  the  sleep  which  knows 
no  waking.  Another  spot  in  the  green  turf  must  be  broken.  An 
other  windowless  tenement  must  be  made. 

Bernard's  partner  was  selected  to  carry  the  heart-rending  news  to 
the  bereaved  mother  and  sister,  while  the  grief-stricken  General  re 
mained  to  accompany  the  body  of  his  darling  boy. 

Mr.  Wheat  was  a  young  man  of  good  address  and  easy  manners, 
but  to  go  upon  a  mission  of  that  kind  was  to  him  something  new. 
He  would  have  excused  himself,  but  there  was  no  excuse,  so  he  de 
termined  to  break  the  terrible  news  as  gently  as  possible. 

When  he  reached  the  once  happy  home  of  his  late  partner,  some 
thing  seemed  to  reproach  him  for  being  in  some  way  responsible  for 
the  dark  shadow  which  was  so  soon  to  cover  the  once  happy  home. 
Why  could  not  the  lightnings  of  heaven  strike  and  destroy  the  great 
house  and  its  inmates,  sooner  than  he  should  blast  it  with  words  of 
his.  Hesitating  did  not  make  the  task  easier,  and  no  time  was  to  be 
ost. 

The  young  man  raised  the  handle  of  the  great  bronze  knocker  and 
et  it  fall  once  or  twice.  The  sound  seemed  to  echo  in  the  hills,  all 


THREE    GENERATIONS.  17  I 

was  so  still.  Presently  he  heard  steps  approaching.  The  door  was 
opened  and  he  recognized  Endura,  his  late  partner's  dearly  beloved 
sister.  Never  had  he  beheld  a  creature  of  such  transcendent  loveli 
ness.  They  had  met  before,  but  he  had  never  realized  how  beautiful 
Endura  was.  Was  it  not  a  dream?  Was  ever  mortal  so  near  per 
fection  ?  Certainly  she  had  never  appeared  anything  like  this  before. 
He  imagined  that  a  troubled  expression  o'ershadowed  her  face  as  he 
inquired  for  Mrs.  Ivers.  Perhaps  she  imagined  something  had  hap 
pened  to  her  father,  as  she  knew  he  was  directly  from  him.  But  she 
hastened  to  call  her  mother,  who  came  almost  immediately. 

After  the  first  words  of  salutation,  Mr.  Wheat  said  he  was  sorry 
to  be  the  bearer  of  bad  news.  Mrs.  Ivers  blanched  instantly,  and 
asked  if  anything  had  happened  to  her  husband.  He  said  no,  not 
to  the  General ;  he  was  well,  but  Bernard  had  died  suddenly  the  day 
before,  and  his  remains  would  be  brought  home  for  burial  the  next 
day. 

Both  women  swooned.  Mrs.  Ivers  fell  upon  the  lounge,  and  En- 
dura  fainted  and  fell  upon  the  floor. 

Mr.  Wheat  called  for  help  which  brought  the  servant  girl,  who  was 
so  much  shocked  as  to  have  no  control  over  herself.  So  she  sat 
down  helpless  in  a  chair,  while  the  young  man  raised  the  poor  young 
lady  who  lay  prostrate  before  him  upon  the  floor.  He  called  for  cold 
water,  which  the  domestic  by  this  time  had  recovered  enough  to  bring, 
as  well  as  other  restoratives,  which  soon  restored  both  ladies  to  con 
sciousness. 

Mr.  Wheat  then  gave  some  further  facts  pertaining  to  the  sad  affair, 
ever  speaking  in  the  highest  terms  of  the  young  man.  He  alluded  to 
the  post  mortem  examination,  as  he  well  knew  all  of  the  facts  must  ap 
pear  in  the  papers.  He  said  there  were  indications  of  arsenic  in  a  tum 
bler,  which  was  found  in  his  room,  which  seemed  to  go  to  show  that 
he  took  his  own  life. 

The  young  man  said  that  he  could  give  no  reason  for  such  a  rash  act. 
"  Certainly,"  said  he,  "  your  son  was  an  exemplary  young  man,  and 
had  made  himself  very  popular  with  customers  until  quite  lately,  when 
he  had  not  given  the  attention  to  business  which  he  formerly  did." 

Mrs.  Ivers  said  she  was  afraid  that  something  was  going  wrong  since 


T72  ENDURA:   OR, 

Bernard  had  neglected  writing  them  so  much   and   came   home   so 
seldom. 

Mr.  Wheat  could  have  told  them  why  he  did  not  write  oftener,  and 
why  he  did  not  come  home,  but  he  would  not.  Already  he  had  said 
too  much  but  it  was  done  with  good  intent,  and  perhaps  he  was  ex 
cusable. 

There  were  certain  things  to  be  done  before  the  funeral  and  Mr. 
Wheat  undertook  them.  He  superintended  the  whole  thing  even  to 
the  digging  of  the  grave. 

It  had  been  decided  that  Bernard's  old  friend,  the  Rev.  Dr.  Bishop, 
should  officiate,  so  he  was  to  be  sent  for  and  many  things  to  be  pro 
vided  which  Mr.  Wheat  felt  it  his  duty  to  attend  to. 

It  was  scarcely  three  hours  before  all  the  neighborhood  had  heard 
of  the  sudden  death  of  Bernard  Ivers.  But  nothing  further  was 
known  except  that  the  funeral  would  take  place  from  his  father's 
house  the  next  day.  The  day  of  the  funeral  came. 

A  lovely  autumn  morning  dawned  upon  the  land  and  blessings 
were  scattered  over  the  earth.  A  bountiful  Providence  blessed  the 
husbandman.  The  fields  were  white  and  ready  for  the  sickle.  The 
aftermath  carpeted  the  meadows.  The  yellow  corn  burst  from  its 
white  sheets  to  welcome  the  harvesters.  The  apples  blushed  upon 
the  trees,  and  the  acorns  were  scattered  for  beasts  and  birds.  Dry 
nuts  rattled  among  the  golden-tinted  leaves.  The  wild  grape  lent  its 
perfume,  as  its  clusters  dangled  from  the  tall  trees,  mingling  the  pur 
ple  and  gold  while  casting  their  living  incense  on  the  soft  autumnal 
air.  Animals  and  insects  were  happy  in  the  abundance.  The  birds 
of  the  air  welcomed  the  harvest.  The  cattle  in  the  fields  were  fat. 
All  nature  seemed  to  say,  "  Eat,  drink  and  be  merry." 

Amid  all  this  beauty  and  abundance  was  a  great  sorrow.  A  soul 
had  gone  forth  leaving  all  to  try  the  unknown  country. 

Bernard  Ivers  could  never  more  look  upon  those  beloved  scenes. 
True,  if  the  spirit  can  look  back  he  may  see  it  all  as  we  behold  stars 
and  the  beautiful  sky,  but  so  far— so  far  away.  It  was  a  sad  house 
hold.  The  neighbors  did  everything  in  their  power,  but  the  cloud 
lifted  not.  When  the  carriages  and  hearse,  which  contained  the  body, 
came  in  sight,  the  grief  of  mother  and  sister  knew  no  bounds,  like 
one  of  old  they  refused  to  be  comforted. 


THREE    GENERATIONS.  173 

"Can  it  be,"  thought  the  mother,  "that  that  casket  contains 
all  there  is  left  of  my  poor  boy — the  joy  of  my  youth,  the  pride  of  my 
mature  years?  And  will  he  not  speak  to  me,  call  me  mother,  and 
embrace  me  as  was  his  wont?  Shall  I  not  feel  his  soft  kiss  upon  my 
cheek,  and  see  him  smile  again  ?  " 

Alas  !  no,  poor,  mourning  mother,  he  cannot  return  thy  kiss ; 
cannot  feel  thy  warm  lips  upon  his  white  brow.  No  sign  of  debauch 
there  now ;  no  swollen  eyes  ;  no  purple  cheeks  ;  no  haggard  looks; 
only  a  sweet,  peaceful  smile  which  seemed  to  the  poor  mother  to  say, 
"all  is  well."  And  all  was  well  with  the  inanimate  clay.  The  soul 
was  with  God,  the  Father. 

Is  it  too  much  to  believe  that  God  who  created  the  world  and  all 
that  is  therein,  and  pronounced  it  good;  the  God  of  love  and  all  good 
ness  ;  who  heeds  the  sparrows  fall  and  makes  the  lilies  grow ;  who 
guards  and  protects  us  on  sea  and  on  land ;  whose  attributes  are 
love  ;  in  short,  that  God  who  is  omnipotent  and  all  love  :  we  say,  is 
it  too  much  to  believe  that  such  a  being  will  care  for  his  own? 

Is  he  angry  because  one  of  his  creatures,  who  in  a  moment  of  suf 
fering  or  sorrow,  puts  out  the  light  which  he  gave  him  ? 

There  have  been  many  pilgrims  who  were  unable  to  carry  their 
load.  Could  we  blame  them  for  laying  it  down  that  they  might 
reach  the  end  of  their  journey?  To  carry  it  to  the  end  was  but  to 
die. 

So  with  the  suicide.  The  wretched  being  who  has  tried  all  in  his 
power  to  reform  and  be  a  man,  still  finds  himself  sinking  lower  and 
lower.  Taking  the  poison  slowly  it  may  be  but  surely,  who  knows 
that  he  is  certainly  killing  himself,  just  as  he  would  be  were  he  to 
sever  an  artery  or  cut  his  throat. 

Is  it  more  self-murder  to  do  it  at  once  by  a  stronger  potion  or  by 
some  instrument?  These  are  questions  the  happy  and  contented  can 
not  be  expected  to  answer. 


174  ENDURA:  OR, 


CHAPTER  XX. 

THE     SERMON. 

What  life  refus'd,  to  gain  by  death  he  thought: 
For  life  and  death  are  but  indifferent  things, 

And  of  themselves  are  not  to  be  shunn'd  nor  sought, 
But  for  the  good  or  ill  that  either  brings. 

— Earl  of  Sterline. 

was  a  great  gathering,  the  news  had  spread  so  rapidly. 
JL  They  came  from  far  and  near.  "When  any  one  favored  of  for 
tune  passes  away,  he  appears  to  leave  a  void  which  it  is  not  easy  to 
fill,  and  when  that  person  is  young  or  in  the  prime  of  life  he  is 
doubly  mourned,  because  something  was  to  have  been  expected  of 
him. 

It  has  been  said  that  those  "  whom  the  god's  love,  die  young." 
Certain  it  is  that  when  the  young  do  die,  we  are  apt  to  extol  their 
virtues  until  their  faults  are  forgotten. 

It  does  seem  that  the  best  are  often  taken  first.  A  favorite  in  a 
community  has  often  been  marked  as  the  one  to  die.  How 
often  has  it  been  said  that  such  a  child  was  too  good  for  earth.  And 
is  it  not  a  little  strange  that  they  appear  to  be  the  ones  first  taken 
from  it?  It  is  not  all  imagination;  they  are  not  merely  coincidences, 
but  facts  which  have  often  been  proven  to  the  satisfaction  of  those 
who  have  given  the  matter  thought. 

When  the  news  went  abroad  that  Bernard  Ivers  was  dead,  the  uni 
versal  exclamation  was  that  a  promising  young  man  had  been  taken 
away  in  the  very  beginning  of  his  usefulness.  And  the  sorrow  was 
real;  not  one  had  an  unkind  word  to  say. 

The  great  house  had  not  known  such  sorrow  before.  When  the 
good  squire  died,  his  many  virtues  were  recounted,  and  it  was 
summed  up  that  he  had  lived  his  allotted  time  and  gone  to  his  re 
ward.  And  so  with  the  mistress;  she  too  had  died  full  of  years  and 
honors. 

When  poor  Sally  Vic  was  taken,  she  but  fulfilled  the  saying,  "She 


THREE    GENERATIONS.  175 

was  too  good  for  earth  and  was  transplanted  to  bloom  in  a  better 
land,  where  sorrows  come  not." 

But  when  the  young,  the  noble,  the  generous,  and  the  good,  the 
pride  and  the  heir  was  taken  away,  what  could  be  said  ? 

Much  had  been  expected  from  him, — not  only  by  his  parents  and 
more  intimate  friends,  but  by  the  whole  community  to  which  he  be- 
longecl.  He  had  been  a  favorite  with  all, — with  those  who  had 
known  him  since  he  was  a  child,  and  with  the  children  and  youths 
who  knew  him  in  the  glory  of  early  manhood.  What  wonder  then 
that  the  great  house  was  full  to  overflowing  at  his  funeral  ? 

Not  only  was  the  house  crowded  so  that  standing  room  even  could 
not  be  had,  but  the  front  yard  and  lawn  was  covered,  while  crowds 
stood  around  each  and  every  window  trying  to  catch  the  words  as 
they  fell  from  the  lips  of  the  man  of  God. 

The  text  which  the  Reverend  gentleman  selected  for  the  founda 
tion  of  his  remarks  was  the  last  part  of  the  first  verse  of  the  thir 
teenth  chapter  of  the  gospel,  according  to  St.  John. 

The  words  were  as  follows :  "  Having  loved  his  own  which  were 
in  the  world,  he  loved  them  unto  the  end." 

"  These  words  were  spoken  of  our  Lord  and  Savior  on  the  very  eve 
of  his  betrayal. 

"It  was  just  before  that  great  holiday  which  was  held  annually  in 
Jerusalem,  which  the  Jews  called  the  feast  of  the  Passover,  when 
thousands  of  lambs  were  slain  and  offered  as  burnt  offerings  to  pro 
pitiate  the  God  who  had  spared  them,  while  he  smote  and  destroyed 
others.  And  these  were  the  very  people  who  were  so  anxious  that 
the  Son  of  man — the  Christ  who  was  then  with  them — should  be  de 
stroyed  because  he  did  not  come  up  to  their  idea  of  what  the  Messiah 
ought  to  have  been. 

"  To  them  he  was  a  fraud — an  impostor.  To  think  that  he,  a  bare 
footed  Nazarine,  should  dare  to  attempt  to  impose  upon  them  by 
pretending  to  be  a  king — the  one  they  had  looked  for  so  long,  en 
raged  them  against  him. 

" '  Now  before  the  feast  of  the  passover,  when  Jesus  knew  that  his 
hour  was  come  that  he  should  depart  out  of  this  world  unto  the 
Father,  having  loved  his  own  which  were  in  the  world  he  loved  them 
unto  the  end.' 


I  7  6  ENDURA  :    OR, 

11  Two  applications  might  be  made  to  the  text.  One,  showing  that 
our  Lord  and  Savior  having  once  loved — 'loved  on  to  the  end.'  That 
itself  was  something  more  than  human.  Subject  as  we  are  to  passion, 
our  real  or  fancied  wrongs  outweigh  the  friendship  and  kindnesses  of  a 
lifetime.  One  writer  says:  '  Kindnesses  are  like  traces  drawn  in  the 
sand.  The  breath  of  every  passion  wipes  them  out  and  they  are 
remembered  no  more.  But  injuries  are  like  inscriptions  on  pillars  of 
brass  or  monuments  of  marble.  They  remain  unimpaired  through 
the  revolutions  of  time.' 

"  Another  application  can  well  be  made  which  seems  most  comfort 
ing  to  the  friends  of  the  deceased — having  loved  you  once  he  loved 
you  always  ;  and  he  loves  you  now  and  there  can  be  no  doubt  but  he 
will  love  on  forever. 

"  If  spirits  in  bliss  look  down  upon  this  world  of  sorrow,  who  shall 
say  that  they  do  not  mingle  with  our  better  selves  and  lighten  the  load 
that  is  heaped  upon  us  ? 

"  The  body  that  now  lies  before  us  once  contained  a  spirit  that  I 
loved,  and  I  feel  that  I  am  the  better  for  having  known  him.  Look 
around  us.  Is  there  one  here  who  did  not  love  him?  Is  there  one 
here  whom  he  knew  that  he  did  not  love  ? 

"  He  was  patient  and  gentle,  dutiful  and  affectionate;  kind  of  heart 
and  by  nature  honorable ;  full  of  generous  impulses,  and  longing  to 
do  some  noble  deed  that  might  benefit  others  whom  he  loved  ;  whom 
he  still  loves,  and  will  continue  to  love  if  our  religion  be  true,  through 
all  eternity. 

"  Love  is  the  one  great  quality  that  lifts  us  to  God,  where  we  can 
give  love  for  love  forever.  We  feel  sure  of  the  love  of  our  Heavenly 
Father  through  all  time,  yea,  even  through  eternity  itself,  and  we  are 
just  as  sure  that  the  love  of  our  departed  friend  will  last  as  long.  He 
was,  doubtless,  fashioned  to  much  good,  and  we  are  not  to  question 
the  ways  of  Providence  in  his  taking  off.  Good  may  even  come  of 
that.  The  sorrowing  cry  out  in  their  anguish,  uThy  will  be  done/ 
Wherefore  cry  they  ?  Do  they  believe  that  God  knows  best  ?  So 
ought  they  certainly  to  believe,  or  do  they  feel  their  insignificance  in 
the  presence  of  all  that  has  been  created,  and  realizing  their  helpless 
ness  before  God  who  created  all  things,  they  appeal  imploringly  to 


THREE   GENERATIONS.  177 

him  that  they  are  told  doeth  all  things,  well  hoping  or  expecting  he 
will  take  pity  on  them  because  they  were  just  then  penitent. 

"Our  Saviour  said :  *  O  my  Father,  if  it  be  possible,  let  this  cup 
pass  from  me ;  nevertheless,  not  as  I  will  but  as  thou  wilt.'  We  see 
that  even  the  Saviour  of  mankind,  knowing  as  he  did,  that  he  must 
suffer  in  order  that  the  Scriptures  might  be  fulfilled,  yet  prayed  to  his 
Heavenly  Father  to  spare  him  if  it  were  for  the  best.  At  the  same 
time  he  was  resigned.  So  the  true  Christian  feels  in  the  hour  of 
great  trial.  While  hope  lingers  they  are  schooling  themselves  for  the 
worst. 

"King  David  prayed  to  God  to  have  his  child  live.  He  fasted  and 
lay  all  night  upon  the  earth.  But  on  the  seventh  day,  when  told  that 
his  child  was  dead,  he  arose  from  the  earth  and  washed  himself,  and 
changed  his  apparel,  and  when  they  set  bread  before  him  he  eat 
thereof. 

"When  the  servants  said  unto  him,  '  Why  have  you  done  this  ? ' 
he  did  not  attempt  to  equivocate,  but  gave  that  honest  and  even 
memorable  answer :  'While  the  child  was  alive  I  fasted  and  wept,' 
for  I  said  :  *  Who  can  tell  whether  God  will  be  gracious  to  me,  that 
the  child  may  live. '  But  now  he  is  dead,  wherefore  should  I  fast  ? 
Can  I  bring  him  back  again  ?  I  shall  go  to  him,  but  he  shall  not 
return  to  me.  How  many  there  are  who  like  David  of  old,  pray  that 
a  dear  friend  may  be  spared.  Almost  believing  that  their  prayer  will 
be  heard  and  answered.  But  when  the  friend  is  taken  away  they  are 
ready  to  say,  'Thy  will  be  done.'  And  really  comfort  themselves 
with  the  belief  that  they  are  reconciled. 

"With  our  mourning  friends  before  us  no  such  hope  was  held  out. 
No  such  prayers  were  made.  The  bolt  fell,  and  they  reverently  sub 
mit,  filled  with  that  glorious  hope  that  they  will  go  to  him,  but 
he  can  never  return  to  them.  Let  us  all  hope,  and  trust,  and  the  end 
will  be  well." 

Some  comforting  words  were  said  to  the  bereaved  friends,  and  the 
services  were  concluded. 

The  casket  containing  the  body  was  removed  to  the  front  yard,  and 
placed  beneath  the  great  Willow  which  the  deceased  loved  so  much. 
The  lid  was  then  removed,  that  the  sorrowing  friends  might  have  a 
last  look  upon  the  peaceful  features  of  one  so  well  beloved.  Hun- 


178  ENDURA:  OR, 

dreds  walked  around  the  casket,  and  passed  out  with  swelling  breasts 
and  tear-filled  eyes.  At  last,  came  the  father  and  mother,  followed 
by  Endura  leaning  upon  the  arm  of  Mr.  Wheat. 

For  a  moment  the  mother  looked  calmly  upon  the  face  of  her  dead 
boy.  And  then  as  if  overcome  by  some  great  emotion,  she  burst  out 
in  sobs,  calling  his  name  as  though  she  expected  he  would  answer 
er  her.  She  would  have  lingered  long  by  the  sacred  dust  but  a  gen 
tle  hand  upon  her  arm  admonished  her  and  she  was  led  away. 

Next  came  Endura,  and  the  scene  was  more  affecting  if  possible 
than  had  been  that  with  the  mother.  The  heart-broken  sister  bowed 
her  head  upon  the  edge  of  the  casket  and  sobbed  violently  but  uttered 
no  words.  At  length,  thrusting  her  veil  aside,  she  stooped  and  im 
pressed  one  fervent  kiss  upon  the  cold  white  brow  of  her  dead 
brother.  Not  an  eye  present  but  was  moistened,  not  a  lip  that  did 
not  tremble,  not  a  heart  that  did  not  beat  quicker,  not  a  soul  that 
did  not  sympathize  with  the  beautiful  being  in  this,  her  as  yet  greatest 
sorrow. 

She  took  one  long,  last  look  and  ere  she  turned  away  she  motioned  to 
have  the  lid  placed  in  position,  which  was  done  while  she  still  looked, 
so  that  she  would  be  the  last  upon  earth  to  behold  the  face  so  lov 
ingly  enshrined  in  her  heart  of  hearts. 

The  lid  was  fastened  down,  and  the  bearers — young  men  who  had 
been  his  companions  in  life's  short  journey — stepped  forward  to  ac 
company  all  that  was  mortal  of  their  once  happy  companion  to  the 
place  of  final  rest.  It  was  a  slow,  sad  march  but  too  soon  to  end. 
The  graveyard,  as  will  be  remembered,  was  but  a  short  distance  from 
the  house.  It  was  thither  the  young  men  bent  their  steps,  bearing 
their  precious  but  inanimate  burden  between  them. 

The  grave  had  been  dug  and  two  timbers  placed  across  it,  upon 
which  was  a  large  box  in  which  the  casket  was  placed.  The  box  was 
then  enclosed  with  a  cover  made  for  the  purpose,  and  gently  lowered 
into  the  tenement  prepared  for  it.  Some  rye  straw  white  and  clean, 
was  scattered  on  the  top  so  that  the  earth  might  fall  gently  and  with 
out  noise,  and  then  some  of  the  softest  earth  was  let  fall  gently  until 
the  box  was  well  covered,  when  the  remaining  earth  was  filled  in  until 
a  mound  instead  of  a  hole  was  to  be  seen.  The  grave  was  smoothed 
over  and  a  board  placed  at  the  head  and  another  at  the  foot,  and  the 


THREE    GENERATIONS.  179 

work  was  complete.  A  short  prayer  by  Doctor  Bishop  closed  the  cere 
mony,  and  Bernard  Ivers  was  at  rest. 

There  are  few  ceremonies  more  affecting  than  a  New  England 
country  funeral,  especially  one  like  that  attempted  to  be  described 
above.  The  order  of  exercises  may  be  somewhat  changed,  but  they 
amount  to  about  the  same.  Sometimes  they  may  have  the  last  prayer 
before  the  body  is  lowered  into  the  grave,  or  there  may  be  reading 
after  the  Masonic  fashion,  with  "  Earth  to  earth,  ashes  to  ashes,"  etc. 
Or  there  may  be  a  hymn  sung,  which  is  not  often,  nor  is  it  always 
that  prayer  is  made  upon  these  occasions.  But  it  matters  little,  the 
solemnity  of  the  occasion  is  about  the  same. 

The  funeral  was  over;  the  people  went  their  ways.  Mr.  Bishop 
and  two  or  three  friends  returned  to  the  house.  The  reverend  gentle 
man  conversed  upon  various  subjects,  but  nothing  comforted  the  mother 
so  much  as  did  his  loving  allusions  to  her  poor  boy — his  dead  friend. 
He  told  of  their  first  meeting,  and  of  the  favorable  impression  that  he 
formed  of  him  at  that  time,  and  how  he  had  never  had  occasion  to 
change  his  mind,  or  to  regret  that  he  had  made  his  acquaintance. 

He  said  he  little  dreamed  when  he  came  there  to  attend  the  funeral 
of  Miss  Vic,  Bernard  in  strolling  about  the  place  went  with  him. 
to  the  little  plot  where  his  grandparents  were  laid,  and  where  was  then 
the  open  grave  dug  for  the  poor  girl— he  could  not  have  believed  that 
Bernard's  would  be  the  next  narrow  house  to  be  constructed  in  the 
sunny  nook. 

Mrs.  Ivers  told  him  that  Bernard  used  to  go  out  and  sit  by  his 
grandfather's  grave  all  alone  when  but  a  mere  child,  and  when  any  of 
his  young  friends  came  home  with  him  from  town  he  used  always  to 
take  them  there  and  tell  them  what  a  good  man  his  grandfather  was. 

It  is  thus  that  parents  dwell  upon  the  acts  and  sayings  of  a  child 
that  has  been  taken  from  them,  and  Mrs.  Ivers  was  not  greatly  differ 
ent  from  other  mothers  who  have  lost  children. 

A  country  house  after  the  death  of  a  favorite  inmate  is  a  lonely 
place  to  be  in,  and  the  home  of  the  Ivers  was  no  exception.  The 
neighbors  seeemed  to  dread  meeting  any  of  the  family  as  there  ap 
peared  to  be  but  one  thing  to  talk  about,  and  that  the  very  thing  most 
unpleasant  and  harrowing.  But,  notwithstanding  this  a  great  many 


i8o 


ENDURA  !     OR, 


sympathizing  friends  called  at  the  great  house  with  words  of  tender 
ness  and  comfort  for  the  bereaved  inmates. 

Among  those  who  came  was  Joe  Tartar  bringing  his  mother,  who 
Avas  now  very  old  and  feeble.  Still  she  thought  she  could  stand  it  to 
ride  over  to  try  and  comfort  the  mourners.  The  poor  old  lady  seemed 
to  feel  that  her  own  end  was  near,  and  she  wished  by  such  acts  to 
impress  upon  her  neighbors  the  sacrifice  she  was  willing  to  make  to 
visit  the  afflicted.  Many  years  before  her  visit  would  have  had 
another  significance,  even  though  ostensibly  made  for  the  same  pur 
pose. 

Joe  Tartar  was  willing  and  anxious  to  accompany  his  mother, 
*  which  he  would  scarcely  have  done  when  he  was  first  introduced  to 
the  reader,'  which  was  thought  by  some  to  be  a  sure  proof  of  his  re 
formation.  Others  attributed  his  kind  attentions  to  different  motives. 
Be  that  as  it  may,  Joe  Tartar  appeared  like  a  very  different  man  from 
what  he  was  ten  years  before. 

It  had  now  been  more  than  a  year  since  Rodney  Haywood  went 
to  New  Orleans.  True,  he  had  made  one  flying  trip  north  during  the 
summer,  which  visit  was  all  too  short,  and  the  pain  of  separation  was 
more  acute,  if  possible  than  when  he  first  went  away.  The  last  day 
before  he  was  to  leave  he  and  Endura  rode  out  together.  They  talked 
of  their  plans  and  where  they  would  like  to  live,  and  of  the  little  world 
of  their  own  which  they  would  make  for  themselves,  where  there 
should  be  "no  tales,  but  tales  of  love,"  no  songs  but  love  songs,  no 
friends  that  were  not  lovers.  Everything  beautiful  and  good  should 
surround  them  and  be  with  them.  There  would  be  no  more  sorrow, 
no  more  parting.  For  surely  cruel  death  would  not  come  near  to 
separate  them,  and  what  else  could  come  between  to  mar  their  prom 
ised  happiness  in  the  Eden  of  their  imagination. 

Such  are  the  dreams  of  youth  !  But  alas,  how  few  realize  those 
dreams !  Or,  if  all  they  hoped  for  comes  to  pass,  is  there  not  some 
shadow  like  a  cloud  before  the  sun  to  darken  the  reality  ? 

Of  course  Endura  wrote  of  their  great  bereavement,  and  of  the 
sorrowing  household  now  more  lonely  than  ever  before,  since  they 
knew  that  Bernard  could  never  come  back  to  them.  She  wrote: 

"I  sometimes  fear  that  you,  too,  'may  be  taken  from  me;  that  per 
haps  I  may  never  see  you  again.  Could  I  endure  it?  Could  I  live 


THREE    GENERATIONS.  l8l 

to  be  left  alone,  with  but  my  father  and  mother  to  love  and  protect 
me  ?  The  thought  is  too  horrible.  To  me  it  is  like  some  fright 
ful  nightmare;  it  makes  me  shudder  as  it  comes  over  me.  No !  no  I 
it  must  not,  it  can  not  be !  My  dearest  friend,  come  home  to  me. 
Do  not  stay  one  day  longer  than  may  be  necessary  to  arrange  your 
affairs,  so  that  you  may  never  leave  me  to  go  so  far  away  again.  I 
am  lonely,  so  lonely  without  you,  that  I  can  not  compose  myself;  yet, 
why  should  I  make  you  unhappy  with  my  sorrows  and  complaints? 
I  will  not,  I  must  not  be  a  weight  and  a  burden  to  you.  I  will  say, 
'Press  on,  it  will  make  you  mighty  among  men.'  I  will  assist  and 
encourage  you  to  realize  your  dreams.  You  shall  be  great,  you  shall 
be  rich,  you  shall  be  noble.  But  I  can  not  love  you  better." 

In  due  time  the  answer  came,  full  of  love  and'  sympathy;  words 
of  endearment  were  multiplied.  The  lover  wrote  as  only  lovers  can, 
commencing  with: 

"  MY  DARLING  ENDURA: — Who  has  such  cause  to  be  thankful  and 
happy  as  myself?  Have  I  not  the  love  and  prayers  of  an  angel? 
What  am  I  that  I  am  so  loved  ?  I  know  I  am  unworthy,  but  the 
goodness  and  prayers  of  one  like  your  dear  self  shall  make  me  bet 
ter  day  by  day.  I  will  try,  my  darling  one,  to  fit  myself  to  be  your 
companion,  and  when  we  meet,  you  shall  teach  me  how  I  may,  in  a 
measure,  fill  the  void  caused  by  the  death  of  my  dear  friend 
your  gentle,  loving  brother.  I  have  misgivings  as  to  whether  I  can, 
in  many  things,  fill  up  the  measure  of  goodness  attained  by  your  lost 
darling.  But  such  as  my  poor  nature  will  allow,  in  nothing  shall  you 
lack.  I  would  fly  to  you  at  once,  but  it  would  not  be  wise.  My 
future  good,  and  yours,  depends  upon  close  application  for  a  few 
months  more.  Ere  the  leaves  fall  again  I  shall  be  with  you,  when  I 
shall  clasp  you  in  my  arms  and  call  you  mine  forever." 

It  was  a  long  letter,  and  the  extract  above  will  give  some  idea  of 
its  entire  contents.  Such  love  missives  were  flitting  back  and  forth 
every  few  days,  filled  with  words  of  hope  and  endearment,  promises 
oft  repeated,  vows  often  made,  assurance  upon  assurance  of  undying 
affection  constantly  given. 

Notwithstanding  these  tokens  and  assurances  of  unquenchable 
and  undying  affection,  Endura  was  very  lonely  and  unhappy.  Her 
associates  in  S — .  were  not  of  that  class  to  give  comfort  and  encour 
agement  to  one  longing  for  sympathy,  and  hungry  for  something  vis- 
ibleto  love  and  submit  to. 


1 82  ENDURA:  OR, 

True,  Clara  Haywood  was  often  with  her  and  talked  about  Rod 
ney,  and  of  his  coming  home,  and  how  she  missed  him. 

"But,"  said  she,  "I  suppose  we  shall  never  have  him  with  us 
much  more;  he  will  be  with  you  all  the  time,  as  he  was  when  he  was 
here  last  Summer.  But  I  shall  not  be  jealous,  for  I  can  visit  you  as 
often  as  I  like." 

"  You  shall  live  with  me  and  be  my  darling  sister.  Just  think  of 
it,  Clara  !  what  beautiful  pictures  we  paint  for  ourselves !  Will  they 
ever  be  as  beautiful  in  reality  as  our  imagination  and  our  hopes  por 
tray  them?  Is  the  reality  ever  as  comforting  as  happy  dreams?" 
said  Endura. 

Campbell  says,  and  the  sentence  has  found  many  responces: 

"Cease  every  joy  to  glimmer  on  my  mind, 
But  leave,  oh!  leave,  the  light  of  hope  behind." 

How  sad  would  be  life  without  hope.  The  prisoner  in  the  gloomy 
cell  bows  to  fate  and  lives  beyond.  For  him  there  is  a  bright  world 
beyond  his  prison  bars,  with  friends  and  happiness.  The  voyager 
on  the  ocean  looks  beyond  the  storm  to  calm  and  sunshine.  The 
traveler  o'er  the  desert  waste,  strains  his  eyes  to  catch  the  first  view 
of  the  oasis'  shade.  To  those  who  are  lost  in  the  dark  forest,  a 
gleam  of  light  gives  hope. 

There  is  no  place  so  dismal  but  hope  may  illumine  it;  no  heart  so 
bowed  down  that  hope  may  not  buoy  it  up;  no  tear-dimmed  eye 
that  hope  will  not  brighten. 

Hope  will  bring  smiles  out  of  tears  as  sunshine  banishes  the 
clouds.  What  sorrow  is  there  that  hope  cannot  lighten;  it  is  a  qual 
ity  that  grows  spontaneously;  a  blessing  that  comes  unasked;  it 
comes  most  often  to  those  most  in  need;  those  who  have  every 
wish  gratified,  have  no  need  of  hope;  it  flies  from  such,  like  a 
shadow,  and  goes  to  the  wretched  who  welcome  and  bless  it. 

Endura  Ivers  lived  upon  hope;  it  dwelt  with  her,  visited  her  in  her 
dreams;  went  with  her  about  her  household  duties;  awoke  with  her 
in  the  morning  and  retired  with  her  at  night;  but  the  sad  heart  though 
moved  with  hope  longs  for  a  consummation. 

Joseph  Tartar  was  not  an  unfrequent  visitor  at  the  Ivers'  mansion. 
Upon  one  or  two  occasions  he  had  tried  to  make  himself  especially 
agreeable  to  Endura.  He  kept  a  good  horse  and  buggy,  and  he 


THREE   GENERATIONS.  183 

ventured  to  invite  her  to  ride  with  him,  which  she  declined  with 
some  plausible  excuse.  One  evening  he  presistently  forced  himself 
upon  her  society  in  spite  of  hints  given  as  plainly  as  it  was  possi 
ble  for  a  modest  young  lady  to  give  them.  His  rudeness  would 
often  crop  out,  notwithstanding  his  every  care  and  precaution.  Some 
coarse  remark  would  often  fall  from  his  lips,  which  he  would  realize 
the  next  minute  and  stammeringly  try  to  correct  or  unsay. 

There  are  those  of  more  than  average  natural  abilities  who  are 
vulgar  in  spite  of  themselves.  Joe  Tartar  was  one  of  them,  and  his 
associating  with  hack  drivers  and  stable-boys  in  the  city  had  not  im 
proved  his  morals. 


I  84  ENDURA  I    OR, 


CHAPTER  XXI. 

BANKRUPT. 

The  gods  in  bounty  work  up  storms  upon  us, 

That  give  mankind  occasion  to  exert 

Their  hidden  strength,  and  throw  out  into  practice 

Virtues  that  shun  the  day  and  lie  concealed 

In  the  smooth  seasons  and  calms  of  life. 

— Addison's  Cato. 

IT  was  but  a  short  time  after  the  funeral  that  General  Ivers  received 
a  letter  from  Mr.  Wheat,  the  father  of  Bernard's  partner,  in 
which  he  intimated  that  it  would  be  well  to  fix  up  the  affairs  of  the 
concern  as  soon  as  possible.  It  being  the  season  of  the  year  when 
farmers  are  very  busy  the  General  postponed  it  from  day  to 
day,  until  some  weeks  had  passed,  when  a  second  letter  came  some 
what  pressing.  The  fall  work  now  being  pretty  well  over  he  con 
cluded  it  would  be  but  proper  to  give  the  matter  his  attention. 

Within  a  day  or  two  he  set  off  for  the  city,  where  he  found  the 
books  of  the  late  firm  of  Wheat  &  Ivers  made  up  and  balanced.  But 
most  astonishing  to  him  instead  of  his  having  due  him  one-half  of 
the  value  of  the  goods  on  hand,  as  well  as  of  the  accounts  due  the 
concern,  he  found,  to  his  great  surprise,  that  Bernard  had  largely 
overdrawn  his  account,  so  much  so,  that  it  required  more  than  the 
amount  of  his  father's  last  payment  to  make  it  good.  In  addition  to 
this  there  were  several  thousand  dollars  of  gambling  debts  for  which 
he  had  given  the  firm's  notes,  besides  nearly  as  much  more  was  re 
presented  by  his  individual  note. 

The  good  man,  his  father,  was  staggered.  He  was  ruined  past 
hope,  even  if  he  did  not  attempt  to  make  good  his  individual  liabili 
ties.  He  determined  to  protect  the  partner  from  loss,  though  he 
could  not  but  blame  him  for  not  advising  him  sooner  of  Bernard's 
habits.  In  fact  at  the  time  he  was  called  upon  to  pay  the  note  for 
the  balance  of  the  stock,  not  a  word  was  said  or  intimated  that  all 


THREE    GENERATIONS.  185 

was  not  right  with  his  son.  As  it  appeared  there  was  nothing  to  do 
but  to  make  the  best  settlement  he  could. 

His  property  was  already  mortgaged  to  its  full  value,  besides  he 
had  unsecured  debts  which  were  to  him  real  debts  of  honor,  with 
nothing  to  pay  them  with.  How,  then,  could  it  be  expected  that  he 
would  assume  still  other  obligations  when  there  was  nothing  to  meet 
them  with? 

He  returned  to  his  family.  Alas  !  his  home  no  more.  When  he 
entered  the  house,  which  he  had  hoped  would  be  his  refuge  and  rest 
ing-place  when  old  age  came  on,  his  feelings  so  overcame  him  that 
he  came  near  falling  to  the  floor,  which  so  frightened  Mrs.  Ivers  and 
Endura  that  they,  too,  almost  fainted. 

He  soon  recovered  himself,  and  little  by  little  made  known  the 
terrible  facts. 

He  did  not  tell  them  that  they  were  homeless,  and  that  the  beauti 
ful  house  in  which  they  lived  was  theirs  no  longer ;  but  gradually  it 
came  out  that  he  had  agreed  to  pay  more  than  his  entire  earthly  pos 
sessions  were  worth. 

It  was  then  that  the  good  man  fully  appreciated  the  true  worth  of 
his  noble  wife  and  affectionate  daughter.  They  comforted  him  by  telling 
him  how  they  could  get  along,  and  they  had  no  doubt  but  that  some 
way  would  be  provided  by  which  he  could  extricate  himself. 

Bad  news  flies  fast,  and  it  was  not  surprising  that  the  whole  coun 
try  thereabout,  should  hear  of  the  misfortunes  that  had  befallen  the 
Ivers'. 

Mr.  Hay  wood  first  learned  of  it  through  the  papers,  which  gave  a  full 
account  of  the  affair,  with  some  severe  remarks  thereon. 

Of  course  the  young  man  who  slept  undisturbed  came  in  for  a 
great  share  of  blame,  which  was  but  right.  Some  blamed  Mr.  Wheat 
and  his  son  for  not  informing  General  Ivers  of  the  doings  of  his  son, 
while  others  said  that  it  was  a  delicate  affair  to  meddle  in  family  mat 
ters.  But  all  were  bitter  in  their  denunciations  of  the  saloon-keepers 
and  gamblers  who  had  led  the  young  man  astray. 

The  feeling  against  them  ran  so  high  that  they  were  threatened 
with  prosecution,  and  a  committee  was  actually  appointed  to  wait 
upon  them,  to  try  and  make  them  disgorge  some  of  their  ill-gotten 


1 86  ENDURA  :    OR, 

gains.  Of  course,  the  notes  which  Bernard  had  given  were  worthless, 
as  it  was  said  there  had  been  no  value  received. 

Upon  a  thorough  investigation  of  the  affairs  of  the  concern,  there 
were  found  to  be  some  assets  which  had  been  overlooked,  and 
some  accounts  which  had  been  pronounced  worthless,  out  of  which 
something  might  be  expected.  At  all  events  General  Ivers  would  not 
be  obliged  to  pay  any  more  money  to  make  good  his  son's  deficit, 
but  on  the  contrary,  there  was  a  small  amount  coming  to  him  from 
the  concern. 

When  Mr.  Haywood  heard  of  the  calamity  he  hastened  to  offer  any 
assistance  that  it  might  be  in  his  power  to  render  to  the  heart-broken 
man.  General  Ivers  thanked  him,  but  told  him  that  he  might  be 
glad  to  accept  assistance  from  him  at  some  future  day,  but  that  at 
present  there  were  no  actual  demands  which  he  could  not  meet.  His 
personal  notes  were  in  the  hands  of  friends,  and  the  mortgage  upon 
the  farm  was  given  to  the  bank  of  which  he  was  himself  a  director, 
and  the  interest  upon  the  money  was  all  it  was  necessary  for  him  to 
pay  at  present. 

"  But,"  said  he  to  Mr.  Haywood,  "  when  necessity  requires  it,  you 
are  the  first  man  I  shall  apply  to  for  assistance."  And  so  the  matter 
rested,  as  far  as  Mr.  Haywood  was  concerned,  but  with  others  it  did 
not  rest  there. 

When  it  was  reported  that  Bernard  Ivers  had  committed  suicide  in 
consequence  of  his  embarrassments  brought  about  by  drink,  gambling 
and  other  dissipations,  there  were  a  great  many  who  said,  "  I  told 
you  so." 

Mrs.  Tartar,  who  had  become  very  old  and  childish,  had  still 
enough  of  her  old  nature  left  to  pretend  pity.  While  she  could  not 
help  reverting  to  the  time  when  they  all  talked  so  against  her  poor 
boy,  she  was  thankful,  she  said,  that  he  had  proven  himself  innocent. 

Joe  Tartar  himself  affected  the  greatest  sympathy  for  the  misfor- 
fortunes  of  the  Ivers.  But  those  who  knew  him  best  did  not,  for  a 
moment,  believe  him  sincere.  He  could  not  help  betraying  himself 
whenever  the  matter  was  alluded  to  in  his  presence. 

Younger  members  of  the  community  appeared  to  be  imbued  with 
feelings  akin  to  those  of  Joe  Tartar,  and  it  was  but  fair  to  conclude 
that  they  were  in  a  measure,  influenced  by  the  sayings  and  acts  of 


THREE    GENERATIONS.  187 

that  gentleman,  especially  as  they  were  oftenest  seen   in   his   society. 

Some  of  the  more  ignorant  and  consequently  more  bigoted  mem 
bers  of  the  orthodox  churches  attributed  the  misfortunes  of  the  Ivers' 
to  their  association  with  such  heretics  and  infidels  as  the  Haywoods, 
while  others  said  that  the  boy  had  always  been  allowed  too  much 
latitude.  .  In  fact  that  he  had  been  spoiled  as  a  child,  and  that  it  was 
little  wonder  that  he  had  turned  out  as  he  had  as  a  man. 

The  general  feeling  in  the  neighborhood  had  apparently  undergone 
a  complete  change  since  the  day  of  the  funeral,  and  much  of  that 
feeling  could  be  directly  traced  to  the  ignorant,  the  jealous  and  the 
spiteful  persons  of  the  community ;  and  among  them  all  there  were 
none  more  bitter,  sarcastic  and  hypocritical  than  the  pretended 
Christians  and  members  of  the  church,  who  seemed  to  believe  that 
none  could  be  saved  unless  they  accepted  their  doctrine. 

The  narrow-minded  could  not  see  beyond  their  own  limited  sphere, 
and  there  were  plenty  who  coincided  with  them.  The  ministers  of 
the  gospel  preached  upon  the  subject  without  any  of  the  milk  of 
human  kindness  in  their  souls.  Without  charity  except  that  which  is 
spoken,  and  not  felt  or  acted ;  without  love,  without  sympathy. 

Many  pretended  to  sympathize,  but  hypocrites  that  they  were,  their 
cloven  feet  were  seen  howsoever  much  they  tried  to  hide  them.  Like 
the  ass  in  the  lion's  skin  their  ears  protruded,  and  thus  they  discovered 
each  other  and  herded  together. 

Not  all  in  the  neighborhood  were  like  the  above,  but  it  was  equiv 
alent  to  ostracism  for  those  who  differed  in  their  opinion  to  advocate 
a  belief  not  in  accordance  with  that  most  generally  accepted  in  the 
community. 

It  did  not  matter  what  that  belief  was.  The  Baptist  did  not  think 
the  Methodist  was  on  exactly  the  right  road,  but  there  was  a  possibil 
ity  that  he  might  get  to  heaven.  And  so  thought  the  Methodist  of 
his  Baptist  brother.  Even  an  Episcopalian  might  be  allowed  to  enter 
the  golden  portal  under  extraordinary  circumstances. 

The  Catholics  had  a  poor  show.  Nothing  short  of  a  miracle  would 
admit  them.  But  the  Universalists  were  past  praying  for,  and  must 
certainly  be  damned.  Nothing  could  save  them.  If  there  were  other 
creeds  worse  than  the  Universalists  they  did  not  know  of  them. 

In  some  parts  of  New  England  such  an  absurd  belief  still  exists, 


I  88  ENDURA  :    OR, 

and  the  man  must  be  rash  to  advocate  new  doctrines  among  such 
people,  no  matter  upon  what  authority,  or  what  may  be  its  merits. 

So  the  winter  passed  and  spring  came  forth  in  royal  robes  to  gladden 
the  heart  and  quicken  the  blood.  It  was  not  unlike  other  springs. 
The  buds  opened  and  the  leaves  expanded.  The  fields  were  covered 
with  verdure,  the  birds  sang  as  of  old  their  matin  songs ;  the  violets 
bloomed  in  the  pastures  and  the  lilacs  by  the  garden  wall. 

But  how  different  were  the  circumstances  of  the  Ivers'  from  what 
they  were  when  spring  greeted  them  before  !  Then  they  were  rich, 
contented  and  happy.  But  now  they  were  dependent  and  cast  down. 

General  Ivers  had  aged  more  within  six  months  than  he  had  done 
within  six  years  before.  Mrs.  Ivers  bore  up  much  better,  and  be 
came  a  great  stay  and  comfort  to  her  husband. 

Endura  lent  her  mother  every  aid  and  became,  as  she  well  knew 
how,  the  servant  of  all  work.  She  went  so  far  as  to  solicit  work  from 
those  who  had  it  to  be  done,  that  she  might  earn  a  little  money  with 
which  she  could  purchase  little  things  for  herself,  so  that  her  father 
could  save  every  dollar  to  pay  the  interest  upon  the  notes,  which  were 
held  against  him. 

The  General  planted  his  crops  as  usual,  but  Oh !  with  what  differ 
ent  feelings !  Every  hill  of  corn  appeared  not  to  belong  to  him. 
Even  his  cattle,  as  they  cropped  the  grass  in  the  fields,  seemed  to 
say:  "  It  is  not  for  you."  He  imagined  that  his  friends  shunned  him, 
or  that  they  came  not  as  of  old.  There  were  a  few,  however,  who 
were  true  friends,  whose  friendship  adversity  did  not  chill.  Among 
them  were  the  Haywoods  and  some  poor,  but  modest,  good  neighbors 
that  the  Ivers'  never  knew.  They  were  too  modest  to  intrude  or 
press  themselves  upon  the  notice  of  the  wealthy  or  the  great.  But 
now  that  misfortune  had  overtaken  them,  they  were  ready  to  give 
their  friendship  and  a  helping  hand. 

Thus  they  gained  as  many  real,  true,  worthy  friends,  as  they  lost 
false  ones  by  their  misfortunes.  And  they  considered  themselves  the 
gainers  in  more  ways  than  one.  That  was  one  of  the  first  bright 
spots  since  their  terrible  trial,  and  it  made  them  happy  in  their 
great  need.  Thus  one  star  arose  that  shone  along  their  gloomy  path 
of  life. 

Donald  Kent  had  been  absent  about  twelve  months  when  the  great 


THREE    GENERATIONS  *        189 

calamity  befell  the  friends  he  so  much  loved  and  honored.  He  had 
read  of  the  facts  in  the  papers,  some  of  which  had  been  forwarded 
to  him  by  other  than  friends.  But  the  great  distress  to  the  family  he 
did  not,  he  could  not  know.  If  he  had,  he  could  not  have  believed 
it,  for  to  his  young  mind,  General  Ivers  was  a  very  rich  man.  And 
so  he  had  ever  kept  his  place.  He  could  not  realize  that  the  once 
generous,  good  man  was  dependent  upon  others  to  a  great  extent, 
living  upon  tolerance,  as  it  were,  and  his  wife,  like  a  good  angel, 
assisting  and  encouraging  him. 

Endura,  the  angel  of  his  dreams,  she,  too,  was  obliged  to  do 
menial  work  in  order  to  obtain  the  little  comforts  which  before  had 
come  unasked.  He  wrote  the  family  from  time  to  time;  sometimes 
to  the  General,  and  now  and  then  to  Mrs.  Ivers,  but  usually  to 
Endura. 

It  was  in  the  month  of  May,  nearly  two  years  after  the  time  when 
he  wrote  the  General  to  know  if  he  would  let  him  come  and  work 
for  him,  that  the  mail  brought  another  letter  with  his  familiar  hand 
writing  upon  the  back.  But  it  bore  a  foreign  post-mark,  and  was 
dated  many  days  before.  Was  ever  a  letter  more  welcome?  The 
family  received  quite  a  number  of  letters  from  the  office  at  the  same 
time,  among  them  one  for  Endura,  post-marked  New  Orleans,  which 
the  dear  young  lady  opened  almost  immediately.  But  when  the 
General  announced  a  letter  from  Donald,  all  others  were  laid  aside 
while  he  read  the  interesting  epistle. 

Donald  was  then  in  the  south  of  France,  where  he  had  been  for 
some  months  trying  to  secure  some  information,  which  seemed  next 
to  impossible.  He  had  been  looked  upon  with  suspicion  from  the 
time  he  first  landed  until  the  time  of  his  writing.  He  had  tried  to 
induce  the  authorities  to  assist  him,  but  with  small  success.  He  was 
sure  he  was  on  the  right  track,  but  not  an  opening  could  he  find 
through  which  he  could  enter  upon  his  great  work  with  any  apparent 
chances  of  success. 

It  may  be  well  enough  to  accompany  him  in  his  travels  up  and 
down  through  the  country  from  the  time  of  his  landing  in  La  Belle, 
France,  up  to  the  time  of  his  writing  the  letter,  more  than  twenty 
months  after;  some  of  which  facts  had  been  communicated  to  his 
princioals  and  friends  from  time  to  time,  as  they  transpired.  Other 


1 90  ENDURA:   OR, 

incidents  and  matters  of  interest  had  never  been  mentioned,  and 
they  will  require  a  separate  chapter. 

When  the  "Europa"  entered  the  Mersey,  Donald  really  felt  that  the 
heavy  part  of  his  work  was  over,  and  when  he  set  foot  upon  English 
soil,  as  we  have  seen  he  was  almost  happy.  In  reality  his  work  was 
not  yet  begun. 

After  a  few  days  spent  in  seeing  the  sights  in  the  great  English  sea 
port,  he  went  on  to  London,  stopping  at  Birmingham,  Oxford  and 
two  or  three  other  cities  on  the  way. 

He  remained  in  the  metropolis  a  few  days,  and  then  crossed  over 
to  France.  It  was  not  until  he  found  himself  upon  French  soil,  that 
he  realized  to  any  extent  the  magnitude  of  the  business  he  had  under 
taken. 

He  had  gone  out  of  his  world,  away  from  friends  and  kindred;  he 
heard  another  language  spoken,  a  language  with  which  he  imagined 
himself  familiar,  and  yet,  as  spoken  there,  he  seemed  to  understand 
so  little. 

How  welcome  was  the  sight  of  an  Englishman;  one  who  could 
speak  and  understand  his  mother  tongue  !  Everything  around  him 
was  so  strange;  the  very  buildings  were  different;  the  conveyances 
were  different;  the  sun  itself  appeared  in  the  wrong  quarter  traveling 
in  the  wrong  direction. 

Donald  Kent  had  never  known  what  it  was  to  be  lonely  before. 
He  had  come  to  a  strange  country  upon  business  of  which  he  knew 
little  or  nothing,  with  scarcely  a  clew  to  help  him  to  unravel  it. 

He  went  directly  to  Paris,  determined  to  spend  a  few  days  in  the 
gay  capital  before  going  South  to  enter  in  earnest  upon  the.  real 
business  which  he  had  undertaken. 

France  has  been  emphatically  a  military  nation,  but  it  has  not 
been  all  glory;  there  have  been  civil  wars  and  internal  commotions, 
besides  disasters  in  foreign  lands;  among  the  snows  of  Russia;  upon 
the  Libian  desert;  in  Egypt  among  the  pyramids;  and  finally  at 
Waterloo,  where  the  idol  of  the  French  people  met  his  first  defeat. 
To  be  captured  and  doomed  to  a  lingering  existence  upon  the  lone 
isle  that  was  his  empire  and  his  tomb;  but  monuments  of  the  great 
warrior  are  to  be  seen  all  over  France. 

Notwithstanding  the  various  changes  in  the  government  and  the 


THREE    GENERATIONS.  19 1 

bitter  feelings  of  the  rival  factions,  Napoleon  Bonaparte  left  behind 
him  an  immortal  name.  No  matter  what  the  government  may  be, 
an  empire  or  a  republic,  the  people  will  always  reverence  the  name  of 
Napoleon  the  Great. 

Paris  is,  without  doubt,  the  most  attractive  city  in  Europe,  if  not 
in  the  world;  and  the  nation  as  a  whole  is  the  most  remarkable,  as 
the  people  are  the  most  polished  and  polite. 

All  this  availed  Donal  Kent  naught.  He  had  gone  there  for  a 
purpose,  and  he  was  too  ambitious  and  too  proud  to  return  to  his 
native  land  without  accomplishing  something.  He  remained  in  Paris 
about  one  week,  visiting  its  great  objects  of  interest;  among  them 
the  Louvre,  said  to  be  and  doubtless  is,  one  of  the  finest  galleries  in 
the  world;  the  famous  Arc  de  1'Etoile,  Column  Vendome,  churches, 
theaters,  etc.,  all  of  which  interested  our  hero,  but  they  did  not  give 
him  half  the  pleasure  they  would  have  done,  had  the  great  object 
for  which  he  came  been  accomplished. 

When  Donald  set  out  from  Paris  his  objective  point  was  Mar 
seilles.  To  reach  that  celebrated  French  city  he  was  obliged  to 
travel  almost  the  entire  length  of  France.  He  did  not  go  as  direct 
as  he  might  have  done,  being  as  he  was  so  anxious  to  visit  certain 
portions  of  the  Empire,  he  very  naturally  concluded  that  there  could 
be  no  better  opportunity. 

His  first  stopping  place  was  the  old  city  of  Orleans;  from  there  he 
went  to  Nevers,  stopping  but  a  short  time;  next  to  Lyons  on  the 
river  Rhone;  from  thence  he  went  by  steamer  down  the  beautiful 
river  to  a  place  by  the  name  of  Aries;  thence  by  sail  to  Marseilles. 
Immediately  upon  his  arrival  he  presented  his  letters  to  the  United 
State  Consul  at  that  place,  who  received  him  politely  and  promised 
him  any  assitance  which  he  might  be  able  to  render  him. 

Donald  had  profited  by  his  journey  through  the  beautiful  country. 
One  thing  he  noticed  more  than  another,  and  that  was  the  peculiar 
sites  selected  for  the  castles  and  chateaux — usually  some  high  point 
or  abrupt  promontory,  oftentimes  apparently  quite  inaccessible. 

Sometimes  quite  a  village  of  small,  picturesque  houses  would  sur 
round  the  chateau  which  had  itself  formed  the  nucleus  of  the  settle 
ment  hundreds  of  years  ago,  built  by  some  feudal  chieftain,  who 


192  ENDURA:    OR, 

selected  the  site  for  his  castle  where  it  would  be  most  difficult  for  an 
enemy  to  approach  it. 

Looking  from  these  eminences,  one  might  behold  the  grandest 
panorama  that  it  is  possible  for  the  eye  to  rest  upon.  Miles  and  miles 
of  beautiful  valleys  combed  and  cultivated  to  perfection,  beautified 
and  burnished  as  it  were,  until  the  sun  of  the  morning  looked  upon 
no  more  perfect  landscape.  And  when  the  shades  of  evening  came, 
nature  seemed  loth  to  drop  the  curtain  upon  a  scene  so  beautiful. 

Life  and  beauty  everywhere.  Miles  of  beautiful  trees  planted  by 
the  roadside.  Miles  and  miles  of  hedges  pruned  to  perfection,  as  if 
they  were  moulded  in  unbroken  moulds.  Grand  castles  crowning  the 
hill-tops  and  beautiful  homes  in  the  valleys  ;  antique  and  unique  cot 
tages  everywhere.  Every  nook  was  like  a  charmed  spot.  Every  field 
was  finished,  every  roadway  seemed  to  be  polished,  so  smooth  and 
level  it  was.  Here  and  there  the  iron  horse  shot  through  a  tunnel  or 
crossed  a  viaduct.  Diligences  could  be  seen  upon  the  full  tilt,  and 
queer  looking  little  vehicles  like  insects,  were  creeping  here  and  there 
in  the  highways  and  about  the  fields.  The  hillsides  were  vine-clad, 
or  ornamented  with  beautiful  trees  and  shrubbery,  with  fountains  and 
lakes  where  least  they  were  looked  for. 

And  this  is  France  !  The  country  that  has  gone  through  more 
trials  within  a  century  than  almost  any  land  under  the  sun.  It  is  a 
country  made  great  and  respected  by  the  indomitable  will  of  the 
people.  What  nation  except  the  French  could  have  paid  their  recent 
war  debt  with  the  unheard  of  indemnity,  which  was  demanded  by 
Germany,  and  exist  ?  We  venture  the  assertion  that  not  another 
on  the  globe  with  the  same  territory  would  or  could  have  accom 
plished  the  same  results. 

One  author  describes  it  with  the  short  sentence,  "It  is  a  pleasant 
land,"  and  he  adds,  "  No  word  describes  it  so  felicitously  as  that 
one."  And  no  one  comes  forward  to  contradict  him. 

As  the  south  of  France  is  to  be  the  place  where  Donald  Kent  ex 
pects  to  secure  proof  that  will  establish  his  client's  claims  to  the  vast 
wealth  which  has  been  locked  up  for  a  generation,  it  may  be  well  to 
describe  the  country,  and  especially  that  particular  section  about 
Marseilles  and  up  the  Rhone  for  at  least  one  hundred  miles.  There 
is  a  deep  indentation  of  the  Mediterranean  Sea  called  the  Gulf  of 


THREE    GENERATIONS.  193 

Lyons.  Around  its  shores  you  may  skirt  the  Pyrenees  range  of 
mountains  and  pass  into  Spain,  the  great  raisin-producing  country  of 
the  world.  The  grape  and  the  olive  abound  on  both  sides  of  this 
lofty  range  of  mountains.  The  product  of  the  vine  has  enriched 
the  country  for  ages,  and  the  favorable  position  which  France  occu 
pies  on  the  map  of  the  world,  has  made  it,  for  a  thousand  years,  one 
of  the  most  powerful  kingdoms  of  Christendom,  and  her  vineyards 
have  been  one  of  her  greatest  sources  of  wealth. 

About  seventy-five  miles  in  a  northwesterly  direction  from  Mar 
seilles,  arises  one  of  the  tributaries  of  the  Rhone.  Its  head-waters 
are  in  the  broken  range  of  mountains,  which  seem  to  culminate  in 
Mt.  Lazere,  for  which  the  province  was  doubtless  named.  It  is  a 
stream,  beautiful  even  in  its  incipiency,  when  first  it  comes  bubbling 
from  the  ground,  and  then  as  it  gurgles  on  it  meets  another  brooklet. 
Merrily  they  run  on  together,  blending  their  liquid  music  until  they 
meet  another  and  another,  as  joyous  and  as  happy  as  themselves, 
which  gladly  join  them  in  their  seaward  course.  Anon,  their  waters 
cease  to  sing,  and  move  silently  but  rapidly  along,  as  if  in  haste  to 
mingle  with  the  noble  Rhone,  and  lose  themselves  in  the  ocean  far 
beyond. 

Directly  south  of  Mt.  Lazere,  some  forty  kilometers,  or  say  ten 
leagues,  which  would  be  in  the  neighborhood  of  thirty  English  miles,, 
there  is  an  arm  of  the  province  of  Card  which  occupies  the  entire 
space  between  the  mountains  north  and  south,  stretching  away  on  a 
southeasterly  direction  some  forty  miles  on  either  side  of  the  river 
described  above.  This  tract  of  land,  which  is,  as  we  have  saidy 
about  forty  miles  in  length,  by  something  near  half  that  in  breadth, 
making,  as  will  be  seen,  about  eight  hundred  square  miles  of  terri 
tory,  once  the  estate  of  the  Marquis  de  Brue,  one  of  the  oldest  and 
most  loyal  of  all  the  nobles  of  France,  at  the  time  of  the  Revolution, 
when  Napoleon  laid  hands  upon  everything  and  everybody  who  did 
not  join  his  standard.  M.  de  Brue  came  under  the  ban,  was  ostra 
cized  and  fled  the  country.  His  magnificent  estate  was  forfeited  to 
the  crown  and  turned  over  to  one  of  the  Emperor's  favorites,  to  be 
in  turn  restored  to  the  Bourbon  and  his  adherents.  But  the  original 
owner  of  this  magnificent  estate  was  never  heard  of  after. 

Every  effort  was  made  to  find  a  clew,  which  would  lead  to  his  dis- 


194  ENDURA:   OR, 

covery,  but  without  avail.  The  most  that  could  be  learned  was  that 
he  gathered  his  most  valuable  movables  and  suddenly  departed  for 
parts  unknown.  Rumor  had  it  that  he  sailed  for  America  with  his 
wife  and  infant  daughter,  then  scarcely  two  years  of  age.  There 
being  no  legitimate  heirs,  the  crown  took  possession  of  the  estate 
until  those  whose  title  was  better  could  be  found,  at  the  same  time 
using  every  means  to  find  the  rightful  owner  to  restore  to  him  his 
property.  With  that  end  in  view,  advertisements  were  ordered  put 
in  the  most  prominent  papers  in  Marseilles  and  in  Paris,  which  ad 
vertisements  were  left  standing  in  said  papers  for  years. 

In  the  meantime  the  property  was  cultivated  and  managed  in  the 
interest  of  the  State,  correct  accounts  being  kept,  so  that  should  the 
owner  ever  come  to  his  own,  it  would  be  easy  to  show  just  what  be 
longed  to  him. 

The  soil  was  kept  under  a  high  state  of  cultivation,  and  the  build 
ings  generally  in  good  repair.  There  was  a  single  exception,  and 
that  was  the  chateau  itself,  which  had  never  been  occupied  since  M. 
de  Brue  took  his  hasty  leave.  But  little  or  nothing  had  been  done 
to  the  ancient  pile  for  half  a  century,  when  Donald  Kent's  attention 
was  first  called  to  it  as  one  of  the  abandoned  castles  in  that  part  of 
the  country.  Our  young  lawyer  was  naturally  inquisitive,  and  here 
his  Yankee  characteristic  stood  him  well  in  hand. 

He  had  remained  in  the  province  for  some  months,  gathering  such 
information  as  he  could,  but  nothing  had  been  accomplished  other 
than  the  discovery  that  the  vast  estate  was  without  an  owner,  or,  at 
least,  that  it  was  claimed  by  the  crown  in  the  absence  of  its  more 
legitimate  heirs. 

When  told  that  the  chateau  had  never  been  inhabited  since  the  re 
volution,  and  that  but  few,  if  any  changes,  had  been  made  inside  or 
out,  he  was  naturally  curious  to  see  and  learn  more  of  its  history, 
which  was  given  him  pretty  much  as  it  has  been  given  above.  He  ex 
pressed  a  wish  to  visit  and  go  through  the  building  with  such  a  his 
tory,  which  after  some  time  and  trouble  he  was  enabled  to  do. 

The  great  room  was  damp  and  cheerless,  and  the  few  remaining 
pieces  of  furniture  were  mouldy  with  age  and  lack  of  care.  Some 
bits  of  tapestry  hung  rotting  here  and  there  against  the  walls.  Some 
elaborate  frames,  which  had  once  held  portraits,  stood  in  the  corners 


THREE    GENERATIONS  195 

or  were  piled  up  with  other  rubbish  as  good  for  nothing.  One  or 
two  richly  carved  old  cabinets  tilted  against  the  wall,  minus  one  or 
two  of  the  carved  feet  upon  which  it  had  formerly  rested.  A  massive 
table  with  two  legs  stood,  or  rather  lay,  upon  the  floor  where  it  seemed 
to  have  fallen  from  sheer  old  age.  Some  dusty,  old  papers  were 
kicked  hither  and  thither  about  the  rotten  floors,  as  yellow  as  dirt 
and  age  could  make  them,  were  not  without  interest  to  our  astute 
young  lawyer. 

When  the  keeper  of  the  castle  had  admitted  Donald  to  the  musty 
old  den  he  was  only  too  glad  to  leave  him  to  himself,  with  instruc 
tions  for  him  to  return  the  key  to  his  cottage  which  was  near  by.  Be 
it  known  that  many  strangers  had  been  permitted  to  view  the  interior 
of  the  imposing  structure,  during  the  time  the  present  keeper  had 
had  it  in  charge.  He  received  a  gratuity  of  a  few  francs,  and  sold  an 
extra  bottle  of  wine  to  those  who  were  curious  enough  to  wish  to  enter 
the  dilapidated  old  house. 

Donald  Kent  pressed  a  five  franc  piece  into  the  hand  of  the  old 
man,  as  he  went  back  to  the  cottage  leaving  him  in  undisputed  pos 
session  of  the  keep  and  all  its  decaying  treasures. 

In  going  from  room  to  room  something  new  to  Donald  came  to 
view  :  here  a  nameless  piece  of  furniture  once  doubtless  much  in  use; 
there  some  antique  carvings  upon  oaken  panels ;  again  some  rude 
etchings  without  meaning  or  beauty,  but  not  without  interest ;  mas 
sive  oaken  doors  standing  ajar  that  had  not  been  closed  for  many 
years ;  great  gothic  windows  with  colored  glass  through  which  the 
light  struggled  to  tinge  the  mouldy  walls;  the  high  arched  hall-way 
damp  and  dark  as  a  tomb,  with  scarce  one  ray  of  light ;  the  massive 
stair-way  with  griffins  for  posts,  whose  wings,  black  with  age,  were 
partially  raised  as  if  in  an  attitude  of  defense.  They  seemed  to  say 
go  no  farther,  seek  no  longer  for  the  mystery  that  you  may  never 
solve. 

Donald  might  have  fancied  that  the  fabled  animals,  half  eagle, 
half  lion  said  this  to  him,  but  he  remembered  that  they  had  been  say. 
ing  the  same  to  visitors  for  more  than  two  centuries,  but  the  visitors 
had  gone  on  regardless  of  the  admonition,  and  he  proposed  to  do 
likewise.  He  passed  the  winged  lions  up  the  huge  stairs,  step  by 
step,  each  foot-fall  echoing  from  foundation  to  roof-tree.  Upon  reach- 


196  ENDURA:   OR, 

ing  the  second  floor  another  scene  of  desolation  and  decay  presented 
itself.  In  one  great  hall  stood  a  huge  bedstead  without  mattress  or 
coverlid.  The  once  rich  canopy  was  in  tatters  and  dropping  piece 
meal  from  the  elaborately  carved  and  massive  cornice.  A  mirror 
that  had  once  reflected  truthfully  the  beauties  that  surrounded  it,  now 
refused  to  tell  its  old  tale  through  the  damp  and  cobwebs  that  cov 
ered  and  spoiled  it. 

What  curious  carving  is  that  upon  the  top  of  the  frame,  which  is 
supported  by  two  enormous  storks.  The  combination  is  what  is  called 
a  cheval,  or  a  mirror  upon  a  horse.  Mirrors  upon  frames  are  still 
much  used  for  full-length  views  in  ladies  dressing  rooms,  as  well  as  by 
tailors,  milliner?,  etc. 

The  top  of  the  frame  of  which  the  storks  were  the  base,  was  sur 
mounted  by  an  elaborately  engraved  monogram  which  had  originally 
been  gilded,  but  age  and  dampness  had  tarnished  fine  gold  even,  so 
that  little  more  remained  than  the  outlines  of  the  mystical  letters. 
Donald  was  enabled  to  trace  an  L  and  a  B  which  appeared  to 
be  tied  together  by  two  small  indistinct  characters,  which  he  could 
not  quite  make  out. 

Hanging  just  above  the  head  board  of  the  bedstead  was  a  moth-eaten 
piece  of  tapestry,  upon  which  had  been  wrought  in  silk  the  same  mys 
terious  characters.  Said  characters  remained  distinct  and  alone,  the 
moths  having  nearly  devoured  all  of  the  wool  of  which  the  fabric  was 
chiefly  composed,  so  that  the  monogram,  if  monogram  it  was,  was 
like  the  fibers  of  a  skeleton  leaf;  but  it  shone,  if  possible,  more  plainly 
than  it  did  at  the  time  the  cunning  hand  placed  it  there.  It  was  a 
rare  and  beautiful  sight  to  see  characters  so  distinctly  left  while  the 
substance  of  the  drapery  was  entirely  gone. 

The  singular  phenomenon  arrested  the  attention  of  our  savant,  and 
he  was  led  to  scrutinize  it  more  closely  than  he  otherwise  would  have 
done  had  not  the  ghostlike  skeleton  attracted  him.  He  had  an  in 
distinct  recollection  of  having  seen  something  very  like  the  monogram 
before.  Not  only  the  letters — for  all  monograms  are  somewhat  alike — 
but  the  very  material  seemed  to  have  been  duplicated  somewhere  or 
other.  But  then  many  samples  had  been  made  and  many  patterns 
taken,  so  for  the  time  being  he  dismissed  the  matter  from  his  mind 
and  wandered  on  through  the  old  mansion. 


THREE    GENERATIONS.  197 

He  went  from  room  to  room  until  tired  of  seeing,  and  yet  with 
interest  unabated,  until  admonished  by  gathering  darkness  that  night 
approached.  He  descended  the  stairs  and  stood  once  more  in  the 
dimly  lighted  hall.  Opening  the  great  door  which  creaked  and  grated 
like  the  door  of  a  tomb,  he  once  more  saw  daylight  unobstructed,  and 
inhaled  once  more  the  pure  country  air. 

It  was  getting  late  and  Donald  did  not  like  to  drive  so  far  through 
a  strange  country,  so  he  determined  to  try  and  bribe  the  old  keeper 
to  let  him  stay  in  his  cottage,  which  at  first  the  old  man  positively 
refused  to  do ;  but  a  couple  of  five  franc  pieces  finally  overcame  his 
scruples. 

Donald  had  become  accustomed  to  the  French  style  of  living  by 
this  time,  and  he  could  now  take  his  bottle  of  claret  and  hard  baked 
bread  with  just  as  good  a  relish  as  he  formerly  took  his  tea  and  warm 
biscuit.  He  did  not  expect  much  in  the  humble  quarters  where  he 
found  himself,  and  he  was  not  mistaken.  He  was  shown  into  a  snug 
little  room  with  a  low  ceiling,  hung  around  with  a  few  cheap  pictures, 
with  chintz  curtains,  much  faded,  at  the  small  window,  which  sufficed 
for  both  light  and  ventilation. 

The  young  lawyer  was  in  no  hurry  to  retire,  but  seating  himself  he 
conversed  freely  with  his  host,  who  gave  him  much  valuable  informa 
tion.  What  the  old  man  said  was  more  of  the  nature  of  hearsay  than 
authenticated  facts,  and  yet  to  Donald  every  word  appeared  like  a 
revelation. 

Indeed,  chance  seemed  to  have  thrown  in  his  way  what  historical 
research  had  denied  him.  It  gave  him  new  grounds  to  work  on.  It 
gave  him  quite  another  theory  upon  which  to  proceed.  It  opened 
new  fields,  and  the  renewed  prospect  of  success  gave  him  new  life  and 
energy,  and  from  that  day  he  prosecuted  his  researches  with  fresh 
vigor,  satisfied  in  his  own  mind  that  his  undertaking  was  about  to  be 
crowned  with  at  least  partial  success. 


ENDURA  !    OR, 


CHAPTER  XXII. 

YELLOW    FEVER. 

The  storm  for  Bertram !    And  it  hath  been  with  me, 
Dealt  with  me,  branch  and  bole,  and  bound  me  to  the  roots; 
And  where  the  next  wave  bears  my  perished  trunk, 
In  its  dread  laps  I  neither  know  nor  reck  of. 

— Matusins  Bertram. 

WHILE  Donald  Kent  was  about  starting  upon  a  new  lead  in  the 
strange  land  to  which  he  had  been  exiled,  matters  of  great 
moment  to  those  he  loved  were  transpiring  at  home. 

General  Ivers  continued  to  work  on  mechanically  as  he  had  done 
since  his  misfortunes  overtook  him.  His  crops  grew,  but  he  seemed 
to  have  lost  all  interest  in  them. 

Endura  was  made  happy  from  time  to  time  by  a  letter  from  Rod 
ney;  and,  at  long  intervals,  one  would  be  received  with  a  foreign 
stamp,  which  was  the  signal  for  a  general  rejoicing. 

It  was  midsummer.  The  inhabitants  were  fleeing  from  the  cities. 
There  had  been  a  number  of  cases  of  cholera  in  New  York  and 
othern  Northern  cities,  and  great  alarm  began  to  be  felt  for  the  South. 
There  were  rumors  that  the  yellow  fever  had  broken  out  in  New 
Orleans. 

Of  course,  everybody  who  had  friends  there  were  anxious,  and  let 
ters  were  looked  for  with  increased  anxiety.  Endura  was  no  excep 
tion  to  the  rule. 

The  last  letter  she  received  was  cheerful.  Rodney  wrote  that  there 
had  been,  and  were  still,  some  cases  of  cholera,  and  also  of  yellow 
fever,  but  nothing  like  as  serious  as  the  Northern  papers  made  it. 
As  for  himself,  he  was  well  and  working  hard  to  get  his  affairs  fixed 
up  so  that  he  could  leave  for  the  North  where  his  thoughts  constantly 
were. 

He  wrote,  "  It  will  be  but  a  few  days  before  I  shall  be  able  to  leave, 
when  I  shall  fly  away  to  be  with  those  I  love. 

"True,"  he  continued,  "I  have  some  excellent  friends  here — some 


THREE   GENERATIONS.  199 

whom  I  shall  be  proud  to  introduce  you  to  when  we  come  here  on  our 
wedding  trip  next  winter,  as  some  matters  will  require  my  attention 
here  by  that  time,  and  I  am  sure  you  would  be  glad  to  accompany 
me." 

The  letter  was  full  of  hope  and  breathed  affection  in  every  line,  as 
all  those  precious  missives  did  which  Endura  received  from  her  faith 
ful  lover. 

They  were  all  treasured  up  by  her,  and  each  one  read  and  re-read 
many  times  in  the  interim  between  them.  The  last  had  been  espe 
cially  interesting  for  the  precious  promises  which  it  gave. 

It  was  full  time  another  of  those  love  tokens  should  come  to  hand. 
It  had  been  due  the  day  before  ;  so  that  day's  mail  was  the  second 
that  had  arrived  without  the  anxiously  looked-for  letter. 

The  third  day  came,  still  no  letter  from  New  Orleans.  General 
Ivers  was  getting  so  anxious  for  himself,  as  well  as  for  Endura,  that 
he  drove  to  the  village  to  learn  if  Mr.  Haywood  had  been  more  fort 
unate. 

The  gentleman  would  not  come  from  the  city  until  the  day  follow 
ing,  when  it  was  hoped  he  would  bring  good  news.  General  Ivers 
could  scarcely  bear  to  tell  his  daughter  that  nothing  had  been  heard, 
but  he  said  Mr.  Haywood  would  be  home  the  next  day  and  they 
would  certainly  have  some  news  from  Rodney.  How  long  to  wait! 
Suspense  prolonged  the  hours.  The  very  minutes  were  counted  ;  by 
one  at  least.  She  would  fain  have  slept ;  but  the  blessed  boon  was 
not  for  her. 

At  length  the  shadows  stretched  away  to  the  East,  and  the  sun  set 
upon  the  day  which  had  been  an  age  to  Endura. 

General  Ivers  was  at  the  village  to  meet  his  friend  as  soon  as  he 
should  arrive.  He  came,  and  it  needed  no  words  from  the  mer 
chant's  lips  to  tell  that  calamity  had  overtaken  him.  The  bitter 
reality  must  be  made  known,  but  the  wretched  man  could  not  frame 
words  to  tell  it. 

Taking  a  dispatch  from  his  pocket  he  placed  it  in  the  hand  of 
General  Ivers,  saying  he  received  it  just  before  leaving  his  office  in 
the  city.  The  following  words  had  been  sent  by  telegraph: 


2OO  ENDURA  :    OR, 

NEW  ORLEANS,  Aug.  i,  18,  - 

To   GEORGE    HAYWOOD  ESQ.,  No.   200    Essex   St.,    L :     It 

is  our  painful  duty  to  inform  you  that  your  son  died  this  morning  of 
yellow  fever.  He  was  taken  four  days  ago,  but  supposed  he  was 
getting  better  until  last  evening,  when  he  had  a  relapse  and  died  at 
9:50  this  A.  M.  The  remains  will  be  buried  immediately.  Further 
particulars  by  letter.  FIBER  &  Co. 

The  great  poet  says,  "The  hand  of  little  appointment  hath 
the  daintier  sense."  Thereby  meaning  that  custom  hardens  and 
destroys  our  finer  feelings. 

There  are  many  cruel  things  that  we  may  become  accustomed  to, 
but  the  removal  of  a  dear  friend  by  death,  is  not  calculated  to 
prepare  us  for  the  easier  parting  with  another. 

The  last  sorrow  is  the  greatest  until  another  comes.  How  many 
have  said  to  themselves,  "It  is  more  than  I  can  bear."  But  they 
have  born  it  and  when  the  next  great  sorrow  comes,  they  look  back 
and  think  how  small  the  other,  compared  to  this. 

We  may  loose  father,  mother,  brother  and  sister,  but  until  our 
own  children — bone  of  our  bone,  flesh  of  our  flesh,  are  taken 
from  us,  we  have  not  known  the  real  sorrow  death  can  bring 
into  a  household. 

Mr.  and  Mrs.  Haywood  had  lost  near  and  dear  friends,  and  they 
have  mourned,  as  others  have  mourned  who  have  lost  friends. 

When  Bernard  Ivers  died,  the  shock  was  great,  not  alone  the 
sudden  taking  off  of  the  young  man,  but  the  sorrowing  sympathy  for 
those  dear  friends  who  were  left  behind,  was  almost  as  great  as  the 
realizing  of  the  loss  itself. 

But  what  was  that  to  them  in  comparison  to  the  death  of  their  own 
dear  son? 

And  such  a  death,  at  such  a  place  and  at  such  a  time.  Could  it 
be  possible — was  it  not  a  horrible  dream  ?  No,  sad  sorrowing  hearts, 
it  was  not  a  dream.  And  yet  you  shall  awake  and  smile  again. 
Time  that  blunts  the  lion's  claws  shall  heal  your  wounds.  The  dark 
clouds  shall  disperse,  and  you  shall  behold  the  glorious  sunlight  once 
more. 

General  Ivers  was  speechless  when  he  read  the  terrible  news.  He 
seemed  dazed,  and  clung  to  the  dispatch  as  though  he  would  read 
more. 


THREE    GENERATIONS.  2OI 

His  actions  were  so  strange,  that  Mr.  Haywood  took  him  gently 
by  the  arm  and  led  him  into  the  house.  The  doctor  was  sent  for 
immediately,  and  soon  came;  he  pronounced  it  an  attack  of  paralysis, 
superinduced  by  great  mental  excitement.  Mrs.  Ivers  and  Endura 
were  sent  for  at  once,  and  the  messenger  was  instructed  to  say  that 
Rodney  Haywood  had  died  of  yellow  fever,  and  that  upon  reading 
the  dispatch,  General  Ivers  lost  his  speech.  But  it  was  believed  he 
would  recover. 

It  was  a  sorrowful  errand  to  be  sent  upon,  but  the  messenger  was 
soon  on  his  way.  When  he  reached  the  Ivers'  mansion  he  had  not 
even  to  make  known  his  errand. 

Endura  opened  the  door  and  her  first  words  were,  "Where  is 
father?  What  has  happened  him  ?"  The  man  then  said  what  he  had 
been  told  to  say.  Upon  which  the  poor- young  lady  staggered,  but 
recovering  herself,  she  called  her  mother  who  came  at  once,  and 
comprehended  at  a  glance  almost  the  exact  situation. 

Mrs.  Ivers  assisted  Endura  to  the  lounge,  and  told  the  man  that 
they  would  return  with  him  in  half  an  hour. 

It  was  but  little  more  than  thirty  minutes,  before  they  were  in  the 
wagon,  and  on  the  way  to  the  village,  where  they  found  truly  a  house 
of  mourning. 

Whether  it  was  the  ride  or  the  open  air,  or  whether  the  indomitable 
will  of  Mrs.  Ivers  and  her  daughter  that  prepared  them  for  the  ordeal, 
may  never  be  known;  but  certain  it  was  both  Mrs.  Ivers  and  Endura 
were  calm  and  collected,  and  at  once  set  about  caring  for  and 
comforting  those  who  needed  their  good  offices. 

The  General  appeared  to  recognize  his  wife  and  daughter,  but  of 
course  could  utter  no  word.  Mrs.  Haywood  and  Clara  were 
prostrated,  sobbing  and  fainting  by  turns. 

To  Endura  was  intrusted  their  welfare,  while  Mrs.  Ivers  attended 
her  husband. 

Mr.  Haywood  was  cool  and  collected,  but  from  time  to  time  his 
emotions  would  so  overcome  him  that  he  would  sit  down  and  bow 
his  head  until  tears  came  to  his  relief;  then  he  would  arise  and 
attend  to  his  duties  deliberately,  as  if  they  had  been  the  routine  of  his 
every  day  life.  Some  of  the  more  sensible  of  the  village  people 
offered  to  assist  in  anything  which  they  could  do. 


ENDURA:  OR, 

Even  those  who  would  have  thought  it  almost  sacrilegous  to  have 
had  Mr.  Haywood  enter  their  house,  or  tempting  the  devil  to  have 
entered  his,  felt  it  a  duty  to  go  just  because  General  Ivers  was  there 
with  no  one  but  his  wife  to  take  care  of  him,  whom  they  believed  to 
be  a  Christian  woman. 

Some  of  the  ignorant,  bitter  bigots  did  not  hesitate  to  say  that  it 
was  a  visitation  of  God  ;  that  God  in  his  mercy  had  seen  fit  to  step 
in  and  remove  young  Haywood  so  that  he  might  not  be  the  means  of 
leading  one  away  from  the  true  God  to  worship  false  ones  ;  and  they 
insisted  that  had  not  General  Ivers  gone  to  meet  that  wicked  man  he 
would  not  have  been  struck  dumb. 

Ignorance  and  superstition  so  abounded,  and,  in  some  portions  of 
the  country,  so  abounds  to-day. 

There  were  some,  however,  who  were  independent  enough  to  defy 
such  bigotry,  and  fly  to  the  assistance  of  those  in  need.  It  would 
not  have  mattered  what  might  have  been  their  religious  belief,  or  if 
they  had  none  at  all ;  they  might  have  been  Mormons  or  Mohamed- 
ans  ;  that  they  were  in  distress  would  have  been  sufficient  reason  for 
them  to  lend  a  helping  hand.  Some  of  them  were  uncouth,  but 
really  good-hearted  people,  coarse  and  profane  as  they  appeared. 

The  second  day  following  the  General's  attack,  it  was  thought  ad 
visable  to  have  him  removed  to  his  home  which  was  done  without  ac 
cident. 

The  good  man  appeared  to  realize  that  he  was  home,  but  further 
signs  of  reason  seemed  to  have  left  him.  There  had  been  a  consul 
tation  of  physicians  in  his  case,  but  no  satisfactory  conclusion  had 
been  reached,  but  the  general  impression  was  that  he  could  not  re 
cover. 

There  was  no  lack  of  attention  to  the  afflicted  man.  Endura  de 
voted  all  her  time  to  her  father,  and  the  neighbors  and  friends  from 
far  and  near  were  constantly  coming  and  going,  some  with  the  view 
of  assisting  the  family,  but  others  out  of  idle  curiosity  or  something 
worse. 

Joe  Tartar  called  frequently  to  know  if  he  could  do  anything  for 
them.  They  usually  thanked  him  saying  there  was  nothing. 

For  two  weeks  the  man  remained  in  that  comatose  state  without 
any  apparent  change.  He  had  not  been  able  to  take  any  solid  food 


THREE    GENERATIONS. 

and  there  appeared  to  be  a  constant  sinking.  On  the  eighteenth  day 
there  was  a  marked  change  and  it  was  evident  to  all  that  the  good 
man  could  not  live  many  hours. 

He  would  open  his  eyes  at  times  and  look  longingly  and  lovingly 
upon  his  wife  and  daughter,  and  then  close  them  and  drop  into  the 
stupor  which  had  been  from  the  first. 

Upon  the  twientieth  day  he  rallied,  but  soon  after  sank  back  and 
breathed  his  last. 

The  death  of  General  Ivers  was  not  unlocked  for  nor  unexpected. 
Mrs.    Ivers  and  her    daughter  were  as  much  prepared  as  it  was 
possible  for  them  to  have  been  for  such  a   calamity,  for  death  is  a 
calamity. 

We  may  call  philosophy  to  our  aid  and  say  that  death  is  a  necessity. 
That  it  is  for  the  best  that  we  die  when  we  do.  But  it  is  hard  to 
reconcile  our  feelings  with  philosophy. 

There  may  be  instances  when  philosophy  may  agree  with  our 
reason,  though  at  variance  with  our  feelings.  The  case  of  General 
Ivers  was  one  in  point.  There  was  a  feeling  of  relief  and  thankfulness 
when  he  was  taken  away,  since  he  was  dead  to  all  even  while  he  lived. 
When  a  strong  man  becomes  helpless  and  in  distress,  with  no 
possible  chance  for  his  recovery;  when  he  is  a  burden  to  himself  and 
his  friends;  when  stripped  of  all  his  earthly  possessions,  and  the 
means  that  made  life  a  pleasure,  when  he  is  doomed  to  look  want 
and  suffering  in  the  face  as  long  as  he  lives— it  is  no  wonder  he  is 
anxious  to  go,  and  it  is  a  mercy  when  he  is  taken  and  set  free  from 
all  the  ills  which  flesh  is  heir  to,  and  admitted  to  that  rest  which  is 
eternal. 

When  a  child  dies  how  much  he  is  missed  in  his  accustomed 
place!  What  then  must  be  the  void  when  the  good  man  himself  is 
taken  away! 

It  had  been  scarcely  three  weeks  since  General  Ivers  enjoyed  his 
usual  health,  and  now  he  lay  near  the  son  he  loved  so  much,  in  the 
little  plot  set  apart  for  the  final  resting  place  of  the  Ivers'  family 
the  little  snug  nook  in  the  corner  of  the  meadow  where  three, 
generations  were  laid  down  together  to  sleep  the  peaceful  sleep  of 
death. 

Three  days  after  the  dispatch,  announcing  the   death  of  Rodney 


204  ENDURA  :    OR, 

Hay  wood,  came  a  letter  from  Messrs.  Fiber  &  Co.,  with  the 
particulars  of  his  sickness  and  death.  He  had  seated  himself  to 
write  a  letter  to  his  affianced,  and  had  written  a  few  lines  which  were 
forwarded  to  Endura,  inclosed  in  Mr.  Haywood's  letter.  They  were 
but  the  preliminary  lines  to  one  of  his  affectionate  epistles. 

The  last  words  ever  traced  by  his  stricken  hand  was  characteristic 
of  the  man.  After  the  usual  prelude  he  continued: 

"I  am  feeling  quite  ill  at  this  moment,  but  knowing  that  you  will 
expect  a  letter  ere  this  can  reach  you,  I  felt  that  I  must  write  a  few 
lines.  I  can  scarcely  hold  my  pen,  and  the  words  are  so  confused — 
remember,  love,  remember." 

That  was  the  last  word  which  the  dying  young  man  could  write. 

The  next  day  he  was  somewhat  better,  and  the  third  day 
he  believed  he  was  convalescing.  When  sudden  unfavorable 
symptoms  showed  themselves  and  in  a  few  hours  he  was  dead. 

After  the  letter  had  been  received  there  was  nothing  more  to  be 
done  but  to  bow  in  silence  to  the  inevitable.  Mr.  Haywood  set  a 
day  upon  which  prayers  would  be  offered,  and  an  eulogy  pronounced 
upon  his  son.  When  the  day  arrived  a  minister  came  from  the  city 
to  officiate.  He  read  several  passages  of  Scripture,  among  others  he 
read  the  thirty-first  psalm. 

"In  thee,  O  Lord  do  I  put  my  trust;  let  me  never  be  ashamed  : 
deliver  me  in  thy  righteousness." 

The  most  of  the  chapter  was  read,  the  reader  omitting  such  portions 
as  did  not  appear  applicable  to  the  present  sorrowing  appeal. 

There  were  the  usual  comments  by  the  rabid  orthodox  in  the 
neigborhood. 

The  general  tenor  was  unfavorable  to  universalists  and  to  Mr. 
Haywood  in  particular. 

The  very  idea  of  applying  those  beautiful  words  to  any  one  with 
his  belief  was  almost  sacrilege. 

"But  I  trusted  in  thee,  O  Lord,  I  said  Thou  art  my  God." 

There  were  some  not  as  radical,  who  could  see  nothing  wrong  or 
inconsistent  in  a  universalist  even  saying  he  trusted  in  the  Lord,  or 
in  his  asking  forgiveness  for  his  sins.  Some  intimated  that  there 
was  need  enough  for  men  who  believed  in  such  a  doctrine  to 


THREE    GENERATIONS.  205 

seek  for  light.       And  there  was  no  better  place  to  find  it  than  in  the 
Scriptures  which  we  are  commanded  to  search. 

The  Haywoods  visited  the  widow  Ivers  and  her  daughter,  and  they 
mingled  their  sorrows  as  in  former  days  they  were  wont  to  blend 
their  joys.  Mr.  Hay  wood  undertook  to  assist  the  brave  but  sorrowing 
woman  in  the  farm  work  which  began  to  require  attention.  When  the 
harvest  was  ended,  Endura,  through  the  influence  of  some  of  her 
father's  friends,  secured  the  position  of  teacher  in  the  district  school, 
where  she  had  attended  as  a  child,  and  where  the  kind  offices  of 
Donald  Kent  first  began,  which  were  gratefully  remembered  by 
her.  The  form  of  the  kind  brave  boy  would  rise  up  before  her  in  her 
solitude,  and  she  would  wonder  if  she  would  ever  see  him  again. 

Endura  applied  herself  closely  to  her  duties,  and  made  an  excellent 
record.  At  times  she  was  almost  happy.  She  sat  at  the  same  desk, 
read  the  same  books,  and  looked  upon  the  same  scenes  that  she  had 
looked  upon  when  Donald  was  with  her. 

In  those  far  off  sunny  days,  all  was  bright  and  the  ideal  was  truly 
real. 

Then  she  was  happy,  with  father,  mother,  brother  and  friends; 
with  unclouded  youth  and  no  thought  of  sorrow. 

What  was  she  to-day  ?  A  chastened  woman,  who  had  been  tried 
in  the  world's  crucible.  One  who  had  suffered  much  and  was  ready 
to  say,  "What  next?  I  can  suffer  more.  What  more  can  befall  me 
that  I  have  not  endured  ?  " 

Anon  a  shadow  would  flit  past,  and  her  affianced  husband  would 
stand  before  her  with  his  accustomed  smile,  and  she  could  seem  to 
hear  his  voice  as  he  uttered  those  endearing  words,  which  were  ever 
on  his  tongue  when  he  spoke  to  her,  and  then  that  last  word  written 
upon  the  very  threshold  of  death,  "remember." 

How  could  she  forget  ?  And  yet  the  reality  of  life  was  with  her. 
She  must  work,  necessity  demanded  it,  and  what  ever  her  feelings 
might  be,  work  she  must. 

Work  is  often  a  blessing.  So  with  her  when  her  hands  were 
occupied  her  thoughts  were  diverted  from  that  channel,  which  had 
been  worn  deep  by  sorrow.  She  had  her  mother  to  think  of  and  to 
work  for.  Her  mother  who  after  all  had  been  her  best  friend. 

Mrs.  Ivers  was  indeed  a  noble  woman,  she  had  never  been  heard 


206  ENDURA:   OR, 

to  complain  of  their  misfortunes.     Once  or  twice  she  had  been  heard 
to  say: 

"If  we  could  get  what  belongs  to  us,  we  would  not  suffer." 

The  words  had  little  significance  for  any  one  who  heard  them,  but 
it  occured  to  Endura  one  day  to  ask  her  mother  what  she  meant. 
She  was  then  told  one  of  the  great  secrets  of  her  life,  and  who  her 
father  was.  And  how  he  had  been  banished  or  rather  banished  him 
self  from  his  native  country.  And  how  his  estate  had  been  confis 
cated  because  he  refused  to  join  the  Standard  of  Napoleon. 

Some  writings  were  brought  to  light  which  seemed  to  corroborate 
all  that  Mrs.  Ivers  had  said.  There  were  also  some  relics  which  she 
had  preserved  which  would  be  additional,  if  not  incontrovertible 
proofs  of  what  she  had  asserted. 

Endura  had  seen  those  curios  from  time  to  time,  but  she  had 
never  supposed  that  they  had  any  significance  beyond  other  keep 
sakes  and  heirlooms.  She  had  also  seen  among  the  neighbors  some 
articles  of  vertu  or  bric-a-brac,  which  had  been  purchased  at  the  auc 
tion  sale  of  her  grandfather  Dubrow's  effects.  Some  of  the  articles 
were  of  intrinsic  value,  such  as  for  instance,  one  or  two  silver  cups, 
beautifully  engraved  with  an  elaborate  monogram,  as  well  as  some 
odd  pieces  of  china,  which  were  also  marked  with  like  characters. 

There  were  two  or  three  pieces  of  antique  tapestry,  one  of  which 
had  the  same  monogram  wrought  in  silk  and  exquisitely  shaded, 
which  Mrs.  Ivers  had  preserved  with  great  care  and  which  was  of 
especial  interest  to  her  lady  friends  as  a  sampler  to  work  after,  for 
which  purpose  it  had  often  been  loaned,  with  injunctions  not  to  soil 
or  loan  it,  as  it  was  about  the  only  thing  that  she  possessed  which 
showed  her  mother's  handiwork. 

Endura  gave  it  no  more  than  a  passing  thought  as  something 
beautiful  in  execution,  but  beyond  that  of  no  value  whatever.  It 
could  not  be  used  for  a  bedspread  or  for  a  tablecloth,  nor  was  it  food 
or  raiment ;  simply  some  exquisite  needlework  done  by  her  grand 
mother. 

Spring  came,  and  as  Mrs.  Ivers  did  not  intend  to  keep  the  farm, 
it  was  turned  over  to  the  bank  to  be  disposed  of  as  they  might  think 
proper  ;  they,  as  will  be  remembered,  having  a  mortgage  upon  the 
same  upon  which  the  interest  had  not  been  paid,  which  together  with 


THREE    GENERATIONS.  2OJ 

the  principal  would  be  fully  as  much  as  the  place  would  bring  if  sold 
under  the  hammer.  The  bank  could  not  do  less  than  take  the  farm 
and  give  up  the  note,  which  had  been  given  by  General  Ivers  when 
he  set  his  son  up  in  business. 

The  place  was  offered  immediately  for  rent  and  was  taken  by  a 
neighboring  family  to  be  cultivated  upon  shares,  said  farmer  to  occupy 
one-half  of  the  Ivers'  mansion.  The  other  half  with  the  garden  and 
hay  enough  for  one  cow,  was  reserved  by  the  bank  for  the  widow,  for 
which,  in  consideration  of  her  husband's  having  been  a  director  of 
the  bank  and  of  their  great  misfortune,  the  rent  was  nominal. 

Small  as  the  rent  was,  it  would  have  been  more  than  she  could 
have  paid  except  for  the  sale  of  some  cattle  and  movables  which  a 
little  more  than  paid  another  of  the  General's  notes  of  hand.  After  all 
debts  had  been  paid  the  widow  had  the  furniture  in  the  house,  one 
cow  and  some  poultry  and  a  few  dollars  in  ready  money.  And  so  the 
third  spring  opened  with  the  Ivers'  family  after  the  departure  of 
Donald  Kent  upon  his  difficult  and  uncertain  mission.  Mrs.  Ivers 
and  her  daughter  received  frequent  letters  from  their  faithful  friend 
across  the  water. 

Of  late  quite  a  different  tone  had  been  noticed  in  his  correspon 
dence.  It  really  did  seem  as  though  his  long  search  was  about  to  be 
rewarded.  The  last  letter  which  he  had  written  was  more  encour 
aging  than  any  which  he  had  written. 

He  wrote  Mrs.  Ivers  that  he  was  in  that  part  of  France  where  her 
father  and  mother  were  supposed  to  hail  from,  and  that  possibly  some 
clue  might  be  found  which  would  lead  to  the  discovery  of  her  people 
if  she  could  but  forward  him  some  written  documents,  with  any  fam 
ily  relics  or  heirlooms  of  which  they  might  be  possessed.  He  also 
sent  an  order  on  Messrs.  Stern  &  Strong  of  Boston,  for  $100  with 
which  Mrs.  Ivers  was  to  secure  any  of  those  articles  which  had  been 
sold  at  the  auction  sale  of  her  father's  effects.  The  articles  so  pur 
chased,  with  written  documents  in  her  possession,  as  well  as  her  own 
affidavit  as  to  who  she  was,  with  such  facts  as  could  be  proven  with 
the  further  account  of  the  shipwreck  and  loss  of  her  father  and 
mother;  all  of  which  could  be  proven  by  the  newspapers  of  the  day, 
as  well  as  by  other  documentary  evidence,  such  as  the  identical  letter 
which  Mr.  Dubrow  had  received  from  France  advising  him  of  the 


2o8  ENDURA:  OR, 

change  in  the  government  and  of  the  almost  certainty  of  his  reinstate 
ment  in  his  possessions. 

This  letter  was  the  first  indication  that  was  had  of  an  unclaimed 
estate  in  France,  and  came  in  possession  of  the  man  who  first  under 
took  to  secure  the  property  in  a  very  mysterious  manner,  which  he 
did  not  even  wish  to  disclose  to  Stern  &  Strong.  The  man  never 
supposed  that  any  one  survived  who  could  lay  claim  to  the  estate. 

He  never  for  a  moment  supposed  that  de  Brue  could  have  been 
tortured  into  Dubrow,  and  besides  all  that,  nearly  a  quarter  of  a  cen 
tury  had  elapsed  and  no  one  had  come  forward  to  lay  claim  to  the 
property.  When  the  individual  laid  the  matter  before  the  great  law 
firm,  he  was  supposed  to  be  acting  in  behalf  of  the  heirs  of  "  Luis  de 
Brue,"  which  he  claimed  to  have  found. 

Messrs.  Stern  &  Strong  first  required  a  retaining  fee,  which  was  not 
small,  and  then  all  expenses  were  to  be  paid  during  the  investigation, 
should  it  take  one  year  or  five  to  accomplish  the  work,  all  of  which 
conditions  were  agreed  to  by  the  party  claiming  to  represent  the  heirs. 
The  man  who  negotiated  with  the  lawyers  did  not  pretend  to  be  an 
heir,  but  simply  acted  for  the  heirs  as  counsellor  and  adviser. 

He  pretended  that  it  was  left  in  his  hands  to  do  with  as  he  might 
think  proper.  And  as  he  knew  that  Stern  &  Strong  had  correspon 
dents  in  France,  and  besides  that  they  were  particular  friends  of  the 
United  States'  minister,  resident  there,  he  very  naturally  concluded  that 
they  would  be  the  best  lawyers  he  could  interest  in  the  case.  Who 
shall  say  his  reasoning  was  not  good? 

When  Mrs.  Ivers  received  Donald's  last  letter,  she  sent  to  Stern  £ 
Strong  for  the  money,  which  they  forwarded  to  her  immediately. 
Upon  the  receipt  of  this  she  went  to  Mr.  Haywood  and  made  ar 
rangements  for  him  to  purchase  at  any  reasonable  rate,  as  many  of 
the  desirable  articles  as  could  be  found  which  had  been  sold  by  her 
father. 

Mr.  Haywood,  well  knowing  the  characters  with  whom  he  had  to 
deal,  used  considerable  strategy  in  accomplishing  his  purpose.  At  last 
the  coveted  articles  were  secured.  The  beautiful  silver  tankard  from 
old  Mrs.  Tartar  was  purchased,  for  which  the  peddler  had  to  pay  a 
good  round  price.  For  although  she  was  very  old  and  childish  she 
knew  the  value  of  money ;  besides  a  beautiful  pair  of  silver-bowed 


THREE    GENERATIONS.  209 

spectacles,  presented  to  her  by  the  astute  peddler,  assisted  to  over 
come  her  scruples  about  parting  with  the  treasure. 

When  Joe  Tartar  came  home,  the  peddler  was  gone,  and  with  him 
the  highly  prized  tankard.  Joe  was  almost  wild;  he  cursed  his 
mother,  and  told  her  she  had  ruined  him;  he  said  that  tankard  to  him 
was  like  the  magic  lamp  to  Aladdin. 

The  old  lady  told  him  what  a  large  price  she  had  got  for  it,  besides 
the  kind  hearted  man  had  given  her  a  new  pair  of  silver-bowed  spec 
tacles,  with  which  she  could  see  to  thread  the  finest  needle.  The 
old  woman  could  not  understand  why  her  son  was  so  angry  and 
abused  her  so,  just  because  she  had  sold  the  tankard,  when  he  never 
seemed  to  care  for  it. 

Since  the  return  of  Joe  Tartar  from  his  long  exile  no  one  knew 
where,  he  had,  from  time  to  time,  received  letters  from  the  city,  and 
it  was  but  fair  to  conclude  that  they  were  from  his  old  associates. 
On  two  or  three  occasions  he  had  made  trips  to  the  city,  when  he 
would  be  absent  for  quite  a  long  time,  but  as  it  was  no  one's  business, 
very  little  was  thought  of  it.  On  two  occasions  he  had  been  visited 
by  a  strange  man  with  a  foreign  accent.  The  dress  of  the  stranger 
was  somewhat  peculiar  and  quite  marked;  his  hair  was  black  and 
fell  to  his  shoulders;  smooth-shaven,  except  a  moustache  which  was 
very  black  and  very  heavy;  his  hands  were  white  and  delicate,  and 
showed  no  signs  of  ever  having  done  any  work. 

Upon  one  occasion,  Joe  drove  the  man  around  the  country  and 
over  the  old  Dubrow  place.  The  reader  will  remember  that  when 
Mr.  Dubrow's  effects  were  disposed  of,  people  came  from 
far  and  near;  some  from  motives  of  mere  curiosity,  and  some 
with  a  view  of  purchasing  something  at  the  sale.  Among 
the  others  who  attended,  was  Mrs.  Tartar  and  Joe,  who  was 
then  an  overgrown  and  vulgar  boy.  One  after  another,  the 
pieces  of  bric-a-brac  were  disposed  of.  They  were  purchased  by 
the  neighbors  for  the  most  part.  Mrs.  Tartar  bid  on  a  silver  tankard 
which  was  elaborately  engraved  with  a  coat  of  arms  and  a  monogram. 
She  being  the  highest  bidder  it  was  knocked  down  to  her;  the  auc 
tioneer  passed  it  to  Joe  who  accidentally  lifted  the  top  which  fitted 
closely  into  the  base,  leaving  a  space  between  the  top  and  bottom, 
into  which  was  jammed  a  paper  with  some  writing  on  it.  No  sooner 


210 


ENDURA  :    OR, 


did  Joe  discover  the  paper  than  he  pushed  the  top  hard  down  and 
turned  suddenly  away.  Sliding  up  behind  a  door  as  though  forced 
there  by  the  crowd  against  his  will,  he  pulled  up  the  top  and  took  out 
the  paper  unobserved,  immediately  replacing  the  top  as  if  it  had  not 
been  moved,  and  then  with  considerable  apparent  impatience  he  told 
his  mother  to  take  her  old  pot  herself,  for  he  did  not  want  to  take 
care  of  it  any  longer. 


THREE    GENERATIONS.  211 


CHAPTER  XXIII. 

THE    LAST    DOCUMENT. 

Oft  what  seems 

A  trifle,  a  mere  nothing,  by  itself 

In  some  nice  situation  turns  the  scale 

Of  fate,  and  rules  the  most  important  actions. 

— Thompsons Taucred  and  Sigismanda. 

MRS.  Tartar  relieved  her  much  abused  boy  of  his  responsibility 
by  taking  charge  of  the  treasure  herself.  When  the  sale  was 
concluded,  Joe  went  home  with  his  mother  and  scolded  her  all  the 
way  for  buying  the  old  trumpery.  He  said  it  was  nothing  but  pew 
ter,  just  washed  over  any  way,  and  that  she  had  paid  twice  what  it 
was  worth.  The  poor  old  woman  almost  felt  sorry  she  had  attended 
the  sale  at  all,  to  be  so  imposed  upon. 

The  next  day  Mr.  Dubrow  called  upon  Mrs.  Tartar  and  told  her 
that  there  was  a  paper  in  the  bottom  of  the  tankard  of  some  value 
to  him,  and  he  wished  she  would  allow  him  to  take  it  as  it  could  not 
be  of  any  possible  use  to  her. 

She  immediately  went  for  the  article  and  gave  it  into  his  hands. 
He  opened  it,  but  much  to  his  surprise  found  no  paper.  Mr. 
Dubrow  was  greatly  puzzled,  and  Mrs.  Tartar  called  Joe,  who 
was  about  the  house.  She  asked  him  if  he  saw  any  paper  in  the 
bottom  of  the  tankard.  Joe,  thinking  that  possibly  some  one  might 
have  noticed  him  when  he  took  it  out  and  secreted  it,  put  a  bold 
face  on  the  matter  and  promptly  answered  yes.  He  said  there 
was  an  old  crumpled  piece  of  paper,  with  some  writing  on  it, 
which  he  took  out  and  threw  in  the  fire.  He  noticed  the  effect 
that  his  information  had  on  Mr.  Dubrow,  which  more  than  ever  con 
firmed  him  in  the  belief  that  he  had  secured  a  treasure,  though  he 
could  not  read  a  single  word  of  its  contents. 

Of  course  Mr.  Dubrow  was  very  much  shocked,  and  regretted  his 
loss  beyond  measure,  while  Mrs.  Tartar  said  it  was  too  bad,  and  Joe 
said  he  was  sorry.  Joe  Tartar  did  not  allow  that  paper  to  leave  his 


212  ENDURA  I    OR, 

possession  until  he  made  the  acquaintance  of  Mons.  Trecher,  who 
pretended  to  be  a  professor  of  music.  Joe  first  knew  him  as  a 
patron  of  the  stable,  while  he  was  a  hanger-on  there.  Their  ac 
quaintance  ripened  into  friendship,  and  finally  he  became  Joe's  most 
confidential  friend,  one  to  whom  he  trusted  all  his  secrets,  and  was 
apparently  honored  by  having  the  professor  confide  some  of  his 
affairs  to  him. 

Joe  was  foolish  enough  to  let  his  smooth-tongued  friend  into  the 
little  arrangement  he  had  with  old  Bogus  Smith,  as  he  was  called, 
and  although  Joe  did  not  realize  it  at  the  time,  that  act  put  him  com 
pletely  in  the  power  of  Mons.  Trecher. 

Joe  always  supposed  the  Professor  had  plenty  of  money.  He 
even  gave  Joe  a  dollar,  now  and  then,  when  he  was  particularly 
prompt  in  bringing  his  horse,  or  doing  any  other  favor  for  him,  which 
Joe  was  at  all  times  ready  to  do.  Joe  had  really  become  a  great 
admirer  of  his  long-haired  friend.  He  had  told  him  of  some  of  his 
little  escapades,  which  appeared  to  amuse  the  Professor,  who  would 
adroitly  draw  him  out  until  he  knew  enough  of  him,  according  to  his 
own  words,  to  send  him  to  the  penitentiary.  Gradually  it  dawned 
upon  Joe  that  his  friend,  of  whom  he  thought  so  much,  was  a  con 
fidence  man  and  a  gambler, — one  of  the  most  dangerous  kind, — 
smooth,  oily  and  debonair,  but  wily,  cunning  and  dangerous  to 
the  very  last  degree. 

Gamblers  are  not  always  flush,  and  Mons.  Trecher  was  no  excep 
tion  to  the  rule.  A  time  came  when  he  must  have  money,  and  in 
such  quantities  as  his  precarious  winnings  would  not  supply.  The 
police  had  made  raids  upon  his  haunts  and  broken  them  up.  But, 
as  usual,  the  Professor  was  not  to  be  found;  or,  if  almost  taken  in 
the  act,  he  would  turn  and  assist  the  officers  to  run  the  thieves  to  the 
ground,  usually  managing  to  get  the  officers  upon  the  wrong  track, 
while  he  advised  the  real  culprits  what  to  do,  and  how  to  escape. 

Business  had  been  dull.  There  were  no  games  running,  and 
Mons.  Trecher  was  hard  up,  as  were  all  of  his  friends.  In  his  strait 
he  applied  to  Joe  Tartar,  who  was  as  hard  up  as  himself.  The  Pro 
fessor  pretended  great  distress,  and  he  told  Joe  that  unless  he  had  a 
very  large  sum  of  money  immediately,  he  was  liable  to  go  to  prison, 
and  if  he  did  go,  there  were  others  who  were  sure  to  go  with  him. 


THREE    GENERATIONS.  2  13 

But  he  said  if  he  could  get  a  few  hundred  dollars  he  could  defy 
the  law  and  go  to  a  distant  city  and  open  a  game  upon  his  own 
account ;  and,  for  that  matter,  Joe  could  go  with  him  and  share  his 
fortunes.  Joe  protested  that  he  did  not  have  so  much  money,  and 
did  not  know  how  he  could  raise  it. 

At  last  the  Professor  suggested  that  Joe  write  to  his  mother  for  the 
amount.  Joe  said  she  did  not  have  so  much,  upon  which  the  heart 
less  scoundrel  insisted  that  she  must  sell  enough  of  her  property  to 
raise  the  amount.  Joe  protested  that  he  could  not  write  to  his  mother 
for  money  in  that  way. 

"  Very  well,"  says  the  villain,  "  then  I  will  write  for  you  "  ;  saying 
which  he  took  a  pen  and  wrote  as  follows : 

"L ,  Aug.  15,  1 8— . 

"  DEAR  MOTHER  : 

I  am  in  great  distress.  I  have  been  robbed  and  am  now  con 
fined  by  the  same  robbers  until  I  can  ransom  myself.  The  amount 
they  demand  is  eight  hundred  dollars,  which  if  they  do  not  receive 
within  ten  days  my  life  will  be  forfeited.  I  beg  of  you  to  raise  it 
at  once,  but  do  not  mention  it  to  any  one. 

Your  affectionate  son, 

JOSEPH  TARTAR." 

The  heartless  scoundrel  read  it  over  to  Joe  and  jestingly  said  he 
guessed  that  would  bring  the  old  woman  to  terms.  He  then  ordered 
Joe  to  sign  it,  which  the  cowardly  wretch  finally  did. 

In  due  time  the  money  came,  and  then  Monsieur  Trecher  invited 
Joe  to  go  with  him  to  New  York  to  open  business,  which  at  last  Joe 
consented  to  do  ;  and  so  he  spent  most  of  his  time  during  his  long 
absence  from  home,  when  his  whereabouts  was  known  to  no  one  but 
his  mother. 

The  game  which  Mrs.  Tartar's  money  started  proved  a  paying  one. 
Joe  was  of  great  assistance  in  roping  in  the  unwary.  And  when 
ever  he  succeeded  in  making  a  big  haul  he  would  have  an  extra  allow 
ance,  which  he  would  forward  to  his  mother,  until  the  poor  old 
woman  had  received  back  most  of  the  money  which  she  had  sent  to 
secure,  as  she  supposed,  her  son's  release.  In  the  meanwhile  Mon 
sieur  Trecher  had  become  rich,  and  had,  if  possible,  more  influence 
than  ever  over  Joe. 

It  was  at  about  this  time  that   Joe  produced  the  letter  which  he 


214  ENDURA:  OR, 

found  in  the  tankard,  and  which  he  had  kept  very  close,  not  even 
showing  it  to  his  good  friend,  the  Professor,  until  now. 

That  worthy  glanced  over  it  and  said  it  was  in  French,  so  badly 
written  that  he  would  be  obliged  to  study  it  some  before  he  could 
make  it  all  out  and  he  requested  Joe  to  let  him  take  it  for  a  day  or 
so  until  he  could  decipher  it,  when  he  would  translate  it  to  Joe. 

He  kept  it  for  several  days  and  then,  as  Joe  supposed,  returned  it 
to  him.  After  reading  to  him  its  contents,  which  proved  to  be 
according  to  his  translation,  some  sort  of  a  scandal  in  which  the 
Dubrows  were  concerned. 

In  fact  the  scandal  was  about  themselves.  In  connection  with 
what  purported  to  be  an  adopted  daughter,  of  whom  the  wife  became 
jealous.  The  very  story  which  Joe  had  told  his  friend  years  before, 
which  fact  had  entirely  escaped  Joe's  memory,  but  he  did  remember 
hearing  something  about  some  scandal  of  the  kind  when  he  was 
quite  young.  And  so  there  really  was  some  foundation  for  the 
rumor  of  Annette  Dubrow  being  an  adopted  child,  as  well  as  her 
having  been  the  mistress  of  Dubrow  at  the  time  they  were  on  the 
farm  as  well  as  afterwards. 

The  letter  had  the  appearance  of  being  the  same  one  which  Joe 
gave  the  professor.  It  was  broken  and  crumpled,  the  paper  was  the 
same  and  the  ink  was  the  same. 

But  the  letter  was  quite  different,  though  the  contents  were 
doubtless  just  as  interesting  to  Joe  as  would  have  been  that  of  the 
real  letter.  Joe  was  delighted  to  be  in  possession  of  such  a 
document.  Something  that  he  could  hold  over  the  heads  of  the 
I ver's  whenever  he  should  choose. 

The  wily  professor  intended  to  put  the  real  letter  to  quite  a 
different  use. 

Be  it  known  he  did  not  make  any  pretentions  to  being  himself  an 
heir  to  the  estate  which  he  was  working  so  to  secure.  But  being  as  he 
claimed  the  attorney,  in  fact  for  the  heirs,  and  knowing  of  the 
influence  which  could  be  brought  to  bear  upon  the  French  Gov 
ernment  by  Messrs.  Stern  &  Strong  through  the  U.  S.  Minister  and 
consul  at  Marseilles,  he  thought  it  advisable  to  give  the  case  into 
their  hands. 

In   the  meantime  he  was  to  secure   such  testimony  as  would  be 


THREE    GENERATIONS.  215 

important  in  the  case,  with  such  family  heirlooms  as  he  might  be 
able  to  find. 

Joe  Tartar  was  to  assist  him  in  hunting  up  things  that  had  been 
sold  at  the  Dubrow  sale,  which  will  account  for  the  mortification  and 
chagrin  of  Joe  when  he  learned  that  a  peddler  had  gone  off  with  the 
tankard,  the  very  thing  upon  which  he  had  relied  most,  and  one 
which  he  had  promised  Mons.  Trecher  should  be  forthcoming  at  the 
proper  time.  What  then  must  have  been  the  feelings  of  a  cowardly 
soul  like  his  when  he  went  before  his  master  and  told  him  of 
the  loss.  He  was  well  berated  by  the  Professor  and  told  that  his 
stupidity  might  lose  them  the  case  yet. 

Joe  made  every  effort  to  repair  the  loss,  and  hurriedly  went  from 
place  to  place  where  he  knew  some  of  the  coveted  articles  had  been 
purchased.  But  strange  enough,  the  peddler  had  been  there  before 
him  and  secured  the  articles,  so  that  Joe  was  compelled  to  report 
non-success  to  his  principal,  which  so  enraged  Monsieur  Trecher  that 
he  could  not  find  words  to  abuse  his  confederate  sufficiently.  He 
told  him  that  he  believed  that  he  and  that  d — d  peddler  were  in 
league  against  him. 

"  But,"  said  he,  "  if  I  catch  you  at  it,  the  lives  of  either  of  you  will 
not  be  worth  a  d — m." 

Joe  was  considerably  frightened  as  he  felt  he  alone  was  left  to  take 
the  curses,  while  the  peddler  had  gone  no  one  knew  where,  and  was 
perfectly  safe. 

When  he  went  home  that  night,  the  poor  old  woman,  his  mother, 
came  in  for  an  extra  share  of  abuse  ;  and  when  she  tried  to  remon 
strate  with  him  in  her  feeble  way,  he  tipped  her  chair  over  and  threw 
her  upon  the  floor  and  went  out,  slamming  the  door  behind  him, 
without  waiting  to  see  whether  his  mother  would  be  able  to  rise  or 
not. 

He  went  to  the  village  and  hung  around  the  saloon  all  day  until 
dark,  when  he  returned  to  his  home. 

He  saw  no  light,  which  somewhat  surprised  him.  Opening  the 
door  softly  he  looked  in.  What  a  sight  met  his  eye  !  There  lay  his 
mother  just  as  he  had  thrown  her  out  of  her  chair,  face  downward 
upon  the  floor — cold  in  death. 

Joe  was  shocked  and  immediately  gave  the  alarm.     Soon  some  of 


216  ENDURA:   OR, 

the  neighbors  came  in  and  the  natural  conclusion  was  that  the  old 
woman  had  had  a  fit  and  fallen  out  of  the  chair  and  died. 

Joe  seemed  very  much  affected  and  said  what  a  good  mother  he 
had  lost.  He  was  anxious  that  everything  should  be  done  that  could 
be  to  show  his  reverence  and  love  for  his  mother. 

The  old  lady's  body  was  placed  in  a  beautiful  casket,  and  laid 
away  with  many  marks  of  respect  by  the  neighbors  and  friends  of  the 
deceased. 

After  the  death  of  Mrs.  Tartar  Joe  appeared  very  much  changed. 
He  attended  church  regularly,  and  people  began  to  say  what  a  good 
man  Mr.  Tartar  had  turned  out  to  be. 

Joe  had  become  a  constant  visitor  to  the  Widow  Ivers  ;  and,  all 
things  considered,  his  calls  were  not  disagreeable  to  the  amiable  widow 
and  her  charming  daughter.  At  least,  not  to  Mrs.  Ivers,  who  con 
sidered  it  very  kind  of  him  to  call  and  see  if  he  could  be  of  any  as 
sistance  to  them. 

Endura  had  somewhat  different  feelings.  She  was  inclined  to 
avoid  him  ;  always  treating  him  with  chilling  politeness,  nothing  more. 

Of  course  Joe  could  not  help  feeling  that  he  was  no  favorite  with 
the  daughter,  whatever  he  might  be  with  the  mother,  which  fact  made 
him  all  the  more  anxious  to  secure  her  favors  than  he  otherwise 
would  have  been. 

Upon  a  number  of  occasions  he  had  been  left  alone  with  Endura, 
which  had  given  him  an  opportunity  to  make  known  his  feelings 
toward  her. 

She  would  change  the  subject  very  adroitly,  but  he  would  return  to 
it  almost  immediately. 

He  asked  her  why  she  treated  him  so  coldly.  Why  she  could  not 
love  him.  He  said  he  would  be  her  slave  and  he,  knew  he  could 
make  her  happy.  She  thanked  him  for  the  honor,  but  made  all  sorts 
of  excuses. 

He  told  her  he  had  a  good  home  which  should  be  hers  and  her 
mothers  as  long  as  they  lived.  But  it  was  of  no  use.  She  could  not 
love  him,  and  she  told  him  so. 

That  voluntary  assertion  on  her  part  cast  the  die.  From  that  day 
he  was  her  enemy  and  began  to  torment  her.  He  put  the  report  in 
circulation  that  her  mother  was  a  bad  woman  ;  that  she  had  been 


THREE    GENERATIONS.  2  17 

the  mistress  of  her  adopted  father,  and  of  her  own  father  General 
Ivers,  before  she  married  him. 

He  showed  the  bogus  letter  as  a  proof  of  what  he  said.  True 
enough  the  letter  was  in  French,  but  there  were  plenty  who  had  read 
it,  and  all  translated  it  the  same,  and  not  a  few  of  the  older  in 
habitants  of  the  town  remembered  hearing  some  such  talk  when  they 
were  young,  which  seemed  to  strengthen  the  rumor.  Even  those 
who  had  been  intimate  with  the  family  and  liked  them  very  much, 
thought  there  might  be  something  in  the  rumor.  Still  they  did  not 
believe  but  what  she  was  a  true  noble  woman,  and  retained  her  as 
their  friend.  Among  her  most  staunch  reliable  friends  was  Mr. 
Haywood  and  his  family,  notwithstanding  that  persistent  endeavors 
had  been  made  to  poison  their  minds  against  them. 

On  one  occasion  Joe  Tartar  had  waylaid  Endura  in  the  woods 
and  openly  insulted  her;  at  the  same  time  he  defied  her  and  dared 
her  to  expose  him. 

Endura  told  her  mother  who  advised  her  daughter  to  say  nothing 
about  it,  as  some  of  the  neighbors  would  not  believe  it,  and  it  would 
only  lead  to  a  controversy  which  would  in  no  way  benefit  her. 

At  another  time  he  went  to  the  house  when  he  knew  she  was  alone, 
and  made  indecent  proposals  to  her,  and  finally  assaulted  her  person, 
and  attempted  to  commit  further  outrages  which  she  succeeded  in 
preventing. 

Endura  could  not  but  inform  her  mother  of  his  insults  and  attempts 
at  outrage.  Which  so  incensed  the  good  woman  against  him  that 
she  wrote  him  a  note,  and  threatened  him  with  the  punishment  which 
the  law  meted  out  for  such  offences.  This  rather  frightened  the  bully, 
and  he  took  his  leave  for  parts  unknown.  They  supposed  he  had 
gone  to  the  city  to  mingle  with  his  boon  companions.  At  all  events 
he  was  not  seen  in  S for  a  long  time  after. 

When  Joe  Tartar  left  the  town  where  his  presence  had  become 
intolerable  to  some  of  the  people  at  least,  he  went  directly  to  see  his 
friend,  the  professor,  who  did  not  appear  especially  delighted  to  see 
him,  but  who  was  glad  to  get  any  information  which  Joe  had  to  give, 
which,  at  that  time,  was  quite  meagre. 

One  thing,  however,  interested  the  unprincipled  voluptuary ;  and 
that  was  that  he  had  accomplished  his  purpose  with  the , young  lady 


218 


ENDURA  :    OR, 


whom  they  met  upon  their  last  visit  to  S ,  and  for  whom  they 

expressed  such  admiration. 

The  feelings  of  the  accomplished  scroundel  were  conflicting.  One 
was  to  kick  the  low-bred  villian  who  would  make  such  a  boast,  and 
another  was  to  learn  more  that  he  might  gratify  his  own  lecherous 
passions. 

Joe  was  very  anxious  to  know  how  the  matter  was  getting  on.  He 
did  not  have  any  distinct  idea  of  what  the  Professor  was  doing,  but 
doubtless  he  thought  Monsieur  Trecher  intended  to  get  something 
by  blackmail,  or  in  some  other  disreputable  manner. 

When  told  that  his  neglect  to  secure  the  relics  had  about  ruined 
their  chances  for  getting  anything,  as  an  unsubstantiated  letter  assert 
ed  that,  and  so  was  very  poor  evidence. 

Joe's  stupid  brain  would  seem  to  comprehend  that  much,  but  he 
had  some  slight  suspicions  of  his  Frenchy  friend.  He  longed  to  tell 
him  what  he  thought.  But  his  cowardly  nature  shrank  from  the 
result  as  from  a  pestilence. 

Monsieur  Trecher  had  not  been  idle  during  all  this  time.  True, 
as  he  had  said,  an  unsupported  letter  could  have  but  little  weight  in 
a  matter  of  such  vast  importance. 

He  had  not  been  able  to  secure  certain  articles  which  would  have 
been  of  great  value  as  adjuncts  in  connection  with  the  letter,  but  he 
had  found  an  heir,  or  rather,  had  improvised  one,  in  the  person  of  a 
young  French  woman  who  had  been  his  mistress,  and  who  had  a 
daughter  by  him  then  living,  about  four  years  of  age.  The 
woman  had  been  taught  her  lesson  well,  and  told  that  a  successful 
terminaton  of  the  matter  would  make  her  rich  beyond  compare. 

Although  the  wretch  had  long  since  abandoned  her  for  another,  he 
had  now  a  use  for  her  and  pretended  to  rekindle  the  old  flame  in 
order  to  better  accomplish  his  ends. 

Being  an  expert  penman,  any  documents  that  might  throw  light 
upon  the  matter  were  readily  produced  in  such  a  manner  and  on 
such  paper  as  to  all  appearances  made  them  genuine.  Such  accumula 
ted  documentary  evidence  was  handed  over  to  Messrs.  Stern  &  Strong, 
for  them  to  use  as  they  saw  fit. 

So  much  additional  evidence  coming  in  so  late   had    a  suspicious 


THREE    GENERATIONS.  219 

look  about  it  which  did  not  escape  the  shrewd  lawyers.  But  the 
originals  were  all  forwarded  to  Donald  Kent  for  his  examination  and 
use,  as  were  also  the  family  heirlooms  and  articles  of  vertu  which  the 
peddler  had  secured,  as  well  as  the  articles  sent. 


220  ENDURA  :    OR, 


CHAPTER    XXIV. 

OLD    LETTERS. 

Letters  admit  not  of  a  half  renown, 
They  give  you  nothing,  or  they  give  a  crown. 

—  Young. 

Why,  how  now,  gentlemen  ! 
What  see  you  in  those  papers  that  you  lose 
So  much  complexion? 

— Henry  V. 

WE  left  Donald  Kent  in  the  cottage  of  the  keeper  of  the  Chateau 
Vieux.  He  had  passed  an  excited  and  restless  night,  and  was 
glad  when  the  sun  came  forth  to  smile  upon  the  landscape  and  blaze 
in  varied  flames  upon  the  colored  windows  of  the  old  castle.  He 
had  agreed  with  the  old  keeper  to  have  another  look  at  the  ruin 
before  he  should  leave  the  neighborhood.  The  old  man  had  some 
duties  to  perform  in  the  village  below  the  bluff,  and  as  he  would  like 
to  do  his  errands  in  the  cool  of  the  morning,  he  requested  Donald 
to  take  the  key  himself,  and  when  he  would  be  through  looking,  to 
return  the  key  to  its  place,  which  Donald  promised  to  do,  but  said 
he  hoped  to  see  his  friend  again,  at  the  same  time  slipping  a  small 
gold  coin  into  the  old  man's  hand,  and  bidding  him  good-bye. 

It  was  not  long  before  Donald  Kent  found  himself  in  the  damp 
old  castle,  which  now  appeared  more  lonely  than  before,  as  he 
knew  he  was  the  only  human  being  in  or  about  the  ivy-shrouded  old 
pile.  He  had  plenty  of  time  to  study  the  architecture,  and  peer  into 
dark  closets.  But  the  first  thing  which  claimed  his  attention  was  the 
old  papers  and  letters,  yellow  with  age  and  covered  with  the  ac 
cumulated  dust  of  years.  He  was  there  for  the  purpose  of  getting 
information,  and  what  more  likely  to  give  him  the  information  he 
wanted  than  these  same  old  letters,  which  had  been  kicked  about  un 
heeded  for  more  than  half  a  century. 

The  letters  were  mostly  written  to  the  former  lord  of  the  castle, — 
some  upon  political  matters,  and  some  pertaining  to  personal  affairs. 
Donald  read  a  great  many,  until  it  became  somewhat  tiresome.  Still 


THREE    GENERATIONS  221 

he  persevered,  which  he  would  not  have  done  had  he  not  had  strong 
hopes  that  something  would  develop  to  his  advantage.  No  one  had 
ever  visited  the  castle  before  with  the  same  incentive, — not  even  the 
officers  of  the  law  who  went  to  arrest  the  occupant  so  many  years 
before,  and  who  carelessly  pulled  over  the  papers,  expecting,  no 
doubt,  to  find  proof  of  his  disloyalty  among  them. 

All  of  a  sudden  the  word  "  Boston  "  arrested  his  attention.  Seiz 
ing  the  dirty  old  scrap,  he  tried  to  read  what  was  written  upon  it,  and 
with  difficulty  made  out  that  the  writer  was  living  not  far  from  Bos 
ton,  and  advising  his  friend,  Marquis  de  Brue,  to  come  directly  to 
that  place  with  his  wife  and  child. 

The  writer  continued,  saying  it  was  a  fearful  thing  to  be  driven 
forth  to  suffer  so  much  just  because  one  happened  to  think  and  feel 
differently  upon  political  matters.  It  was  especially  cruel  for  his  wife 
and  daughter, — poor  little  Annette,  who  could  know  nothing  of  what 
it  was  for;  to  be  deprived  of  their  beautiful  home  and  cast  out  upon 
the  world.  Still  it  would  be  better  to  lose  his  property  than  lose 
his  head.  "For,"  said  the  writer,  "the  property  may  be  restored, 
but  it  would  be  difficult  to  furnish  a  new  head  to  the  same  body." 

The  signature  was  torn  off,  but  the  letter  itself  was  of  great  im 
portance.  That,  with  a  number  of  others,  were  secured  by  Donald, 
who  wrote  a  note  and  left  it  for  the  keeper,  saying  that  he  had  taken 
some  old  scraps  of  paper  and  one  or  two  old  letters  which,  if  it 
would  be  agreeable,  he  would  be  glad  to  keep  as  mementoes.  Thank 
ing  the  old  man  for  his  kindness,  he  signed  his  name  and  took  his 
departure. 

When  Donald  Kent  reached  his  hotel  in  town  that  night,  he  found 
two  quite  large  packages  marked  with  his  name,  which  the  express 
had  delivered  in  his  absence.  They  had  been  sent  all  the  way  from 
Boston,  United  States  of  America.  He  ordered  the  packages  sent 
to  his  room,  and  there  with  a  hammer  and  chisel  he  opened  them. 

The  first  thing  that  arrested  his  attention  was  the  silver  tankard, 
which  he  had  seen  several  times  at  Mrs.  Tartar's.  Then  came  some 
more  relics  which  had  been  purchased  at  the  Dubrow  sale,  and  lastly 
came  the  letter  which  was  found  in  the  bottom  of  the  tankard,  with  a 
note  from  Messrs.  Stern  &  Strong,  stating  just  the  particulars  as  to 
how  it  was  found  and  by  whom,  giving  no  names,  but  saying  that  it 


ENDURA  :    OR, 

was  discovered  by  the  son  of  the  woman  who  had  purchased  the 
article,  which  to  Donald  Kent  was  equivalent  to  telling  name  and 
all. 

But  it  was  something  of  a  mystery  to  Donald  as  to  how  the  tankard 
and  the  letter  could  have  been  secured,  knowing  the  parties  so  well. 
Upon  reading  Messrs.  Stern  &  Strong's  letter  the  whole  mystery  was 
solved. 

They  wrote  Donald  that  a  certain  Frenchman  who  claimed  to  be 
acting  for  the  heirs,  who  was  none  other  than  their  client,  had 
furnished  the  money  in  the  beginning  and  up  to  the  present  time  to 
make  the  researches ;  this  same  man  who  had  promised  so  much  had 
only  been  able  to  produce  the  letter,  saying  all  the  other  articles, 
which  would  be  strong,  corroborative,  proof  had  been  stolen. 

The  lawyers  further  wrote  that  in  their  opinion  a  great  fraud  was 
being  attempted,  that  their  client  was  the  perpetrator,  and 
that  he  was  trying  to  make  them  a  party  to  it.  As  a  proof  that  it 
was  so,  they  forwarded  two  or  three  letters  which  they  said  they  had 
every  reason  to  believe  were  forgeries. 

"Furthermore,"  wrote  they,  "the  man  has  never  brought  forward  the 
pretended  heirs  until  within  a  few  days,  which  is  very  suspicious  to 
say  the  least.  The  manner  of  securing  the  letter  was  against  him, 
which  was  evidently  placed  in  the  tankard  as  the  safest  place  to  keep 
it ;  no  one  for  a  moment  supposing  that  the  article  had  a  false  bottom 
unless  they  handled  it,  and  it  happened  to  fall  out,  as  was  in  reality, 
the  case."  They  wrote  that  while  they  had  acted  in  good  faith  thus 
far  with  the  man  whom  they  now  believed  to  be  a  bad  and  dangerous 
person,  they  felt  like  abandoning  his  case,  now  that  they  were  so 
well  convinced  that  he  was  an  impostor. 

They  wished  to  know  if  any  new  developments  had  been  made 
which  promised  speedy  solution  of  the  matter.  If  not,  perhaps,  it 
would  be  better  to  give  up  and  return  home.  Certainly  one  letter 
with  no  corroborative  proofs  was  rather  a  weak  reed  to  rest  upon  in  a 
case  of  such  magnitude,  where  there  was  so  much  at  stake.  They 
also  gave  him  some  good  legal  advice  pertaining  to  inter 
national  law ;  also  the  law  of  tenure  and  recovery. 

Donald  had  already  given  these  matters  much  thought  and  study, 
and  the  conclusions  he  had  come  to  did  not  differ  greatly  from  theirs. 


THREE    GENERATIONS.  223 

But  he  was  in  no  wise  inclined  to  abandon  a  matter  that  was  so  near 
a  favorable  termination  as  was  the  case  he  had  in  hand.  Besides  he 
thought  that  something  was  due  a  community.  That  instead  of  let 
ting  such  villians  go  unpunished,  simply  because  they  had  found  out 
too  late  that  they  were  attempting  to  commit  a  great  wrong  and  fraud 
not  only  upon  good,  worthy  people,  but  upon  a  friendly  nation. 

He  wrote  his  principals  that  as  ready  as  he  might  be  to  abandon 
the  suit,  as  far  as  their  original  client  went,  he  could  not  think  of  giving 
it  up  in  the  interest  of  the  bona  fide  heirs;  that  they  might  withdraw 
from  the  case  as  hopeless,  as  far  as  their  client  was  con 
cerned,  and  join  him  in  contesting  it  for  another  party,  or  they  might 
abandon  it  altogether.  He  then  told  them  of  the  new  discoveries 
which  he  had  made,  and  concluded  by  saying  that  with  what  he  had 
gathered  in  his  three  years  residence  there,  with  recent  new  develop 
ments,  and  the  important  proofs  which  he  had  received  from  them,  he 
felt  safe  in  going  ahead  and  making  his  demand.  And  with  that 
view  of  the  matter,  if  they  thought  it  advisable,  he  would  communi 
cate  with  the  United  States  minister  plenipotentiary  to  the  empire,  and 
also  to  the  Consul  at  Marseilles,  immediately  upon  receipt  of  letters 
from  them  signifying  their  concurrence. 

He  said  that  he  was  just  as  sure  as  he  could  be  that  their  client  was 
a  disreputable  adventurer  as  well  as  a  villain.  But  he  had  uninten 
tionally  put  them  in  possession  of  facts,  whereby  honest,  worthy  peo 
ple  might  get  what  rightfully  belonged  to  them.  Though  his  plan  was 
to  rob  unwittingly,  he  might  become  a  benefactor,  and  it  was  but  just 
and  honorable  that  his  pretended  claim  should  be  properly  represented. 

He  believed  with  them  that  a  single  letter,  unsupported  by  any 
other  facts,  no  matter  how  important  as  an  adjunct,  would  be  of  but 
little  account  in  a  case  like  the  one  they  had  in  charge.  He  was  well 
satisfied  that  the  other  letters  and  documents  which  he  presented, 
were  frauds,  and  that  if  they  produced  them  before  any  Court  of  Jus 
tice  or  commission  they  would  injure  the  case  and  perhaps  make  him 
appear  ridiculous. 

He  said  one  thing  was  certain,  and  that  was  that  the  genuine  letter 
had  been  stolen,  and  in  his  opinion  it  had  been  twice  stolen,  for  he 
did  not  believe  Mons.  Trecher  was  the  original  thief.  But  just  how 
the  latter  individual  obtained  it,  it  was  hard  to  say. 


224  ENDURA:  OR, 

Perhaps  it  might  be  well  for  them  to  try  to  ascertain  that  fact  be 
fore  proceeding  farther.  Even  before  they  should  write,  which  he 
hoped  might  be  by  the  "  Belgic  "  on  her  return  trip.  He  then 
gave  them  his  theory,  and  advised  them  to  have  Joe  Tartar  inter 
viewed  in  regard  to  the  truth  or  falsity  of  it,  which  he  said  they  could 
easily  do  by  putting  a  shrewd  detective  at  work.  He  urged  upon 
Messrs.  Stern  &  Strong  the  great  importance  of  prompt  action.  As 
he  said,  the  iron  was  now  hot  and  they  must  strike  immediately. 

When  the  great  Boston  lawyers  read  his  letter,  they  were  more  than 
ever  satisfied  that  they  had  the  right  man  in  the  right  place,  and 
they  determined  to  see  him  through  at  all  hazards. 

Their  first  move  was  to  put  a  detective  on  the  track  of  Joe  Tartar, 
and  for  that  purpose  they  sent  for  their  old  friend  Sharp,  who  had 
worked  up  cases  for  them  before.  They  selected  Mr.  Sharp  because 
they  had  confidence  in  his  tact^  and  ability,  and  because  he  had  been 
long  in  the  business  and  had  a  great  deal  of  experience,  and  lastly 
they  knew  him  to  be  honest  and  trustworthy. 


THREE    GENERATIONS.  225 


CHAPTER   XXV. 

JOE  TARTAR  AWAKENED. 

His  air,  his  voice,  his  looks,  and  honest  soul 

Speak  all  so  movingly  in  his  behalf, 

I  dare  not  trust  myself  to  hear  him  talk. 

— Addison. 

MR.  SHARP  was  soon  in  communication  with  Mr.  Tartar,  and 
without  telling  him  who  he  was  or  what  he  wanted  the  infor 
mation  for,  he  asked  him  what  became  of  the  letter  which  he  found  in 
the  tankard  which  his  mother  purchased  at  the  Dubrow  sale  so  many 
years  ago.  Joe  said  he  had  burned  it  up. 

"  If  that  is  the  case,"  said  Mr.  Sharp,  "  how  is  it  that  Mons.  Trecher 
has  the  same  letter  in  his  possession  ?  " 

This  sudden  flank  movement  had  the  desired  effect.  Joe  asked 
the  detective  how  he  knew  Mons.  Trecher  had  the  letter. 

Mr.  Sharp  told  him  that  it  did  not  matter.  He  had  not  come  to 
him  to  give  information  without  getting  some  in  return.  The  truth 
seemed  to  dawn  upon  Joe  all  at  once  that  he  had  been  duped, 
and  his  first  impulse  was  to  make  a  clean  breast  of  it.  So  he 

blurted  out,  "  I  thought  that  the  d d  scoundrel  was  playing  me  !" 

when  it  suddenly  occurred  to  him  to  try  a  little  parley. 

Mr.  Sharp  had  seen  and  heard  enough  to  convince  him  that  he  was 
on  the  right  scent.  When  he  very  coolly  asked  Joe  if  he  did  not 
know  what  kind  of  a  man  Mons.  Trecher  was.  And  he  went  on  to 
tell  him  things  which  astonished  the  unwary  Joe  and  caused  him 
to  open  his  mouth  and  ventilate  some  of  his  bad  English  against  the 
Professor. 

Mr.  Sharp  said  he  was  surprised  that  knowing  him  as  he  supposed 
he,  Mr.  Tartar,  did  that  he  should  place  such  an  important  document 
in  his  hands. 

Joe  then  admitted  that  he  had  preserved  the  paper,  and  as  he 
could  not  read  French  he  handed  it  to  the  Professor  to  translate  it 
for  him,  which  he  did,  and  returned  it  to  him  some  days  after. 


226  ENDURA:   OR, 

Mr  Sharp  asked  if  he  was  quite  sure  that  it  was  the  same  letter 
which  he  gave  Trecher  that  was  returned  to  him.  Joe  seemed  very 
much  disturbed  and  changed  color  suddenly,  and  then  he  asked  the 
detective  if  he  could  read  French  writings. 

Mr.  Sharp  said  he  could  make  out  a  letter,  when  Joe  promptly 
produced  his  letter  carefully  wrapped  in  several  thicknesses  of  paper. 
The  document  was  somewhat  worn  and  a  little  discolored,  but  the 
keen  eye  of  the  detective  noticed  some  certain  peculiarities  which  he 
remembered  to  have  observed  in  the  letters  then  in  possession  of 
Messrs.  Stern  &  Strong,  written  by  Mons.  Trecher,  as  well  as  others 
which  were  pretended  to  have  been  written  in  France.  At  all  events 
thought  he,  the  letter  theory  of  the  lawyers  is  correct. 

The  interview  of  the  detective  with  Joe  Tartar  was  quite  satisfac 
tory.  He  had  learned  that  what  had  been  suspected  was  really  true; 
that  the  gullible  Joe,  who  had  attempted  to  steal  the  letter  and  had 
done  so  from  the  owner,  had  in  turn  been  adroitly  robbed  of  the 
same  himself  by  his  trusted,  but  too  cunning,  confederate.  The  above 
facts  he  communicated  to  his  employers,  which  information  gave 
them  great  satisfaction.  It  tallied  so  well  with  the  theory  advanced 
by  Donald  Kent. 

The  next  time  Trecher  called,  which  was  within  a  day  or  two,  they 
told  him  that  they  had  heard  from  their  agent  in  France.  That  he 
had  received  the  letters  which  they  had  forwarded  to  him,  which 
he,  Trecher,  had  handed  them  to  present  as  evidence  in  the  case,  and 
that  their  correspondent  wrote  that  only  one  of  all  the  letters  appeared  to 
be  genuine,  and  that  he  would  not  dare  place  them  before  a  court  or 
commission,  as  they  would  prove  an  injury  rather  than  strengthen 
their  case.  And  farther,  that  their  agent  was  getting  impatient,  and 
unless  the  other  proofs  which  had  been  so  long  promised  were  forth 
coming  immediately  he  should- withdraw  from  the  case,  as  he  did 
not  wish  to  appear  ridiculous  by  presuming  to  contest  a  case  of  such 
importance  upon  such  slender  evidence. 

This  information  was  apparently  taken  quite  coolly.  But  the  ex 
perienced  lawyers  could  see  that  the  cunning  rascal  was  acting  a 
part.  In  spite  of  his  self-control  and  cool  appearance,  he  was  evi 
dently  much  annoyed.  He  said  he  had  furnished  a  great  deal  of 
money  for  carrying  on  the  case,  and  that  he  had  been  led  to  believe 


THREE    GENERATIONS. 


227 


that  it  was  progressing  favorably,  and  that  the  letters  which  he  had 
placed  in  their  hands,  and  the  woman  and  her  daughter,  which  were, 
without  doubt,  the  legal  heirs,  had  been  brought  before  them.  And 
now,  at  this  late  day,  all  his  hopes  were  to  be  dashed  to  the  ground, 
and  all  the  money  he  had  furnished  might  as  well  have  been  thrown 
into  the  sea. 

They  reasoned  with  him,  and  told  him  that  he  had  not  fulfilled  his 
agreement,  which  was  to  furnish  some  articles  of  plate,  and  other 
family  relics,  which  would  have  been  strong  supporting  proof  to  the 
letter,  which  had  been  decided  to  be  genuine.  The  interview  of  the 
lawyers  with  their  client  ended,  but  not  to  the  satisfaction  of  all 
parties  concerned. 

Mons.  Trecher  did  not  contemplate  the  discharge  of  his  counsel, 
for  well  he  knew  the  whole  thing  would  have  to  be  gone  over  again, 
which  would  require  a  fresh  supply  of  cash, — an  article  that  he  was 
not  overstocked  with  just  at  that  time. 

Messrs.  Stern  &  Strong  had  come  to  the  conclusion  that  their 
case,  as  far  as  Mons.  Trecher  was  concerned,  was  as  good  as  closed; 
and  yet,  as  honorable  gentlemen,  having  used  his  money  in  the  prose 
cution  of  the  suit,  they  believed  it  was  due  him  to  give  him  a  fair 
hearing.  So,  in  their  next  letter,  they  advised  Donald  to  make  a 
strong  push  to  get  a  hearing,  and  report  to  them  immediately,  as 
their  client  was  becoming  impatient  and  might  possibly  withdraw  the 
business  from  their  hands. 

Thus  far,  Mons.  Trecher  did  not  know  who  the  agent  of  Messrs. 
Stern  &  Strong  was, — not  even  his  name.  Nor  was  Joe  Tartar 
allowed  to  know  who  the  lawyers  were  that  had  his  business  in  charge. 
The  Professor  pretended  that  he  had  an  agent  and  counsel  in  France 
looking  after  the  matter.  But  recently  he  had  said  but  little  about  it 
to  his  confederate.  In  fact,  those  two  worthies  did  not  appear  to 
seek  each  others'  society  any  more.  The  Professor  could  barely  tol 
erate  Joe,  and  Joe  in  turn  had  become  so  well  convinced  that  he 
had  been  deceived  and  defrauded  by  Trecher,  that  he  avoided  him. 
And,  it  might  as  well  be  admitted,  the  coward  was  afraid  of  the  cun 
ning  gambler. 

Matters  had  come  to  that  pass  that  an  open  rupture  between  the 
two  rascals  was  imminent.  That  Joe  could  do  nothing  more  for 


228  ENDURA:    OR, 

Trecher  was  certain,  and  it  was  equally  true  that  Trecher  would  not 
do  anything  more  for  Joe  since  he  could  not  hope  for  return  favors. 

Joe  had  threatened  that  he  would  kill  the  man  that  had  robbed 
him,  and  his  threat  had  been  communicated  to  Trecher,  who  was 
advised  to  be  on  his  guard,  and  for  that  reason  he  had  gone  well 
armed  of  late,  and  was  fully  prepared  to  meet  the  cowardly  assassin 
upon  any  ground.  Joe  Tartar,  it  was  well  known,  had  long  carried 
a  pistol,  and  swore  he  would  use  it  if  ever  an  occasion  offered. 

The  opportunity  was  not  long  deferred.  They  met  on  the  street 
face  to  face.  Each  drew  and  fired  simultaneously.  Both  shots  took 
effect.  Joe  Tartar  was  alone;  the  Frenchman  had  a  friend  with  him. 

Joe  was  taken  to  the  nearest  drug  store  where  his  wound  was 
examined  and  pronounced  dangerous,  if  not  fatal.  He  was  told  that 
he  might  not  live  and  asked  if  he  wished  to  make  any  statement. 
The  knowledge  that  death  stared  him  in  the  face,  entirely  unnerved 
him  at  first,  but  finally  he  signified  his  wish  to  make  a  statement. 
Being  as  he  believed  about  to  meet  his  Maker,  he  unbosomed  himself, 
and  told  all  of  that  which  the  reader  knows  already,  besides  some 
other  dark  deeds  which  the  world  is  not  particularly  interested  in 
knowing. 

He  gave  the  full  history  of  his  connection  with  Mons.  Trecher. 
He  also  told  of  some  dark  deeds  which  that  worthy  had  committed 
of  which  he  was  cognizant. 

He  said  that  he  was  the  last  of  his  family,  and  the  property  which 
he  had  inherited  from  his  mother  he  would  give  to  those  whom  he  had 
attempted  to  wrong.  And  he  was  anxious  to  make  a  will  to  that 
effect.  The  will  was  accordingly  written  out  by  a  notary,  and 
signed  by  him  in  a  bold  strong  hand,  in  which  he  bequeathed  his 
entire  property  to  Mrs.  Annette  Ivers  and  her  daughter  Endura, 
share  and  share  alike. 

For  the  next  day  or  two  his  symptoms  were  quite  unfavorable,  and 
the  wretched  man  begged  to  live.  Hope  dimly  dawned  upon  him 
and  he  longed  for  the  fruition. 

But  on  the  third  day  his  case  took  an  unfavorable  turn  and  he  suc- 
umcbed  to  the  grim  messenger. 

His  remains  were  laid  near  his  mother's,  and  it  is  to  be  hoped  that 
in  the  progression  that  is  supposed  to  occur  after  death,  that  he  may 


THREE    GENERATIONS.  229 

atone  for  the  sorrow  he  caused  her  here,  and  dwell  with  her  in  peace 
through  all  eternity. 

The  Frenchman  up  to  the  time  of  the  death  of  his  antagonist  was 
reticent.  His  wound  had  been  much  the  same,  both  being  desperate 
and  determined,  aimed  at  a  vital  spot. 

When  told  that  Joe  was  dead,  he  seemed  to  give  up  hope,  and 
sent  for  Messrs.  Stern  &  Strong. 

Mr.  Stern  came,  and  when  he  entered  the  room,  the  sick  man  burst 
into  tears  and  sobbed  so  hard  that  the  physician  in  attendance  was 
fearful  of  hemorrhage  and  administered  an  opiate  which  soon  took 
effect. 

Mr.  Stern  remained  until  the  effect  of  the  medicine  had  passed  off, 
and  then  approached  his  bed.  Mons.  Trecher  was  now  quiet.  He 
appeared  to  be  growing  weaker  rapidly.  Mr.  Stern  asked  him  if  he 
wished  to  make  any  statement  under  oath. 

He  asked  his  doctor  what  the  chances  were  of  his  recovery.  The 
doctor  told  him  that  he  had  strong  hopes  until  within  twenty-four 
hours,  but  that  he  had  grown  quite  weak  and  it  was  his  duty  to  inform 
him  that  his  case  was  alarming.  And  that  if  he  had  any  thing 
that  he  wished  to  say  or  do,  that  it  would  be  well  to  say  it  or  do  it  at 
once.  Upon  this  hint  he  told  Mr.  Stern  that  he  wished  to  make  a 
statement  under  oath. 

A  notary  was  therefore  sent  for,  who  witnessed  what  he  had  dic 
tated  for  Mr.  Stern  to  write.  He  said  that  he  had  no  property  left 
and  but  few  trinkets.  He  had  a  valuable  gold  watch  and  chain, 
two  diamond  studs,  two  diamond  rings,  and  considerable  other 
jewelry  not  as  valuable,  besides  about  one  hundred  dollars  in  cash. 
If  he  died  he  wished  to  be  decently  buried  and  the  rest  of  the 
money  should  go  to  his  physician.  As  for  his  watch  and  jewelry,  he 
wished  it  to  go  to  Marie  Margnot  and  her  daughter,  whom  he  acknowl 
edged  to  be  his  child.  He  said  he  had  nothing  else  to  leave  them 
and  if  Mr.  Stern  would  see  that  whatever  effects  he  might  leave  over 
and  above  enough  to  pay  all  honest  claims  against  him  would  be 
handed  over  to  the  said  Marie  Margnot,  he  would  be  thankful,  and  if 
anything  should  be  realized  on  account  of  the  claim  then  being  con 
tested  in  France,  he  wished  that  as  much  money  as  he  had  advanced 


23°  ENDURA:  OR, 

to  prosecute  the  claim,  might  be  returned  to  the  same  Marie  Margot, 
and  not  a  dollar  more,  as  he  could  not  justly  or  honestly  claim  it. 

The  letter  then  in  the  hands  of  his  attorneys,  he  gave  them  to  use 
as  they  thought  best,  acknowledging  there  before  witnesses  that  he  or 
his  heirs  had  no  just  claim  to  it.  With  a  few  more  requests  he 
ceased  speaking  and  seemed  to  be  sinking  fast. 

He  dropped  into  a  quiet  slumber  and  appeared  to  be  resting  well 
for  more  than  an  hour,  when  he  opened  his  eyes  and  said  in  a  low 
voice  that  he  felt  better.  He  expressed  a  wish  to  see  a  clergyman. 
They  asked  him  of  what  denomination,  he  said  it  did  not  matter, 
for  he  had  never  attended  any  church  more  than  half  a  dozen  times. 
The  nearest  minister  of  the  gospel  was  a  methodist,  a  very  good, 
conscientious  Christian,  who  visited  the  dying  man  and  prayed  with 
him  and  read  a  chapter  from  the  Bible,  that  gave  promise  even  to 
those  who  entered  the  vineyard  at  the  eleventh  hour. 

The  sick  man  sank  rapidly  until  the  sun  went  down,  and  then  forgiv 
ing  all,  as  he  wished  to  be  forgiven,  he  breathed  shorter  and  shorter  and 
finally  ceased,  when  his  spirit  took  its  flight  and  the  once  cunning, 
dangerous  man  was  but — inanimate  clay. 

In  the  letter  which  Messrs.  Stern  &  Strong  forwarded  to  their  agent 
in  France,  they  advised  him  of  the  tragic  end  of  their  client,  and  of 
his  antagonist  ;  also  of  the  particulars  of  his  antemortem  statement, 
which  they  said  had  providentially  relieved  them  from  an  annoying 
dilemma  to  say  no  more. 

They  further  advised  him  to  secure  assistant  counsel  immediately, 
the  best  that  could  be  had.  But  they  suggested  that  it  would  be  bet 
ter  to  make  arrangements  for  them  to  serve  for  a  contingency  if  pos 
sible.  As  the  money  for  the  prosecution  of  the  case  from  that  time 
forward  would  have  to  be  furnished  by  themselves,  they  instructed 
him  to  confer  with  the  United  States  Consul  at  Marseilles,  and  try  to 
enlist  him  in  the  case  with  them,  for  which  he  might  stipulate  to  pay 
a  moderate  fee. 

As   the  matter  seemed  to  be  well  in  hand  with  the  addition  of 
strong,  legal  talent,  which  they  expected  him  to  secure,  they  could  see 
no  reason  why  a  speedy  termination  of  the  case  might  not  be  effected. 
If  a  commission  was  to  be  appointed  they  could  certainly  deter 
mine  the  facts  at  once.     It  need  not  be  long  at  farthest  before  a  hear- 


THREE    GENERATIONS.  23! 

ing  could  be  had,  and  they  could  anticipate  but  one  result,  which 
would  be  in  favor  of  the  claimants. 

They  forwarded  him  their  draft  for  $1,000,  a  portion  or  all  of 
which  he  might  find  it  necessary  to  use  in  connection  with  the  case. 
And  they  wrote  him  that  if  he  thought  it  advisable  one  of  the  part 
ners  would  go  over  to  assist  him.  Still  their  belief  was  that  one  or 
two  good  attorneys,  who  were  natives  and  to  the  manor  born,  would 
be  preferable. 

He  was  cautioned  against  men  of  small  calibre,  and  urged  to  try 
and  secure  men  with  a  national  reputation. 

Donald  was  very  glad  to  receive  his  letters  and  advices,  and  opened 
them  eagerly.  Among  them  was  a  letter  in  Endura's  handwriting. 
He  had  many  letters  to  be  read,  and  some  of  great  importance,  but 
he  could  not  help  opening  and  reading  Endura's  first. 

We  have  no  right  to  divulge  its  contents,  further  than  that  portion 
which  appertained  to  the  forwarding  of  the  family  relics  to  Boston  as 
per  his  advice. 

She  said  her  mother  and  herself  were  at  a  loss  to  know  what  he 
wished  them  for,  but  they  concluded  he  knew  best.  She  wrote  that 
her  mother  thought  so  much  of  his  judgment  and  advice  that  should 
he  write  for  them  to  walk  over  and  see  him,  she  thought,  perhaps,  her 
mother  would  try  to  do  it;  so  he  had  best  be  careful. 

Since  we  caught  a  glimpse  of  the  contents  of  Endura's  letter,  and 
she  will  not  mind  now  if  we  tell  what  we  saw,  we  will  repeat  a  few 
lines  of  it  in  this  connection. 

She  began  with,  "  My  dear  Friend,"  which  was  quite  proper,  wrote 
what  was  mentioned  above,  and  a  few  lines  about  the  wretched  man 
who  had  brought  sorrow  to  his  poor  old  mother,  and  lived  such  an  im 
moral  life ;  and  finally  upon  his  death-bed  bequeathed  all  he  possessed 
to  her  mother  and  herself.  For  what,  she  did  not  know,  but  she  be 
lieved  it  was  for  some  imaginary  wrong  which  he  said  he  had  done 
them. 

"  Poor  Joe,"  said  she,  "  I  despised  him  while  he  lived,  but 
since  he  is  dead  and  can  do  no  more  mischief,  I  think,  perhaps,  I 
was  unjust  and  feel  sorry  for  it.  Mother  says  she  could  never  accept 
anything  as  coining  from  him  in  that  way,  and  I  am  sure  I  will  not 
as  long  as  I  can  help  myself,  so  I  suppose  the  town  will  take  charge 


232 

of  the  property  which  he  left,  and  it  may  be  of  some  benefit  to  some 
one. 

"  I  am  still  teaching  school  in  the  old  schoolhouse  where  we  used 
to  romp  together— there,  I  ought  not  to  have  written  that  since  it 
makes  me  so  sad.  Oh,  Donald,  how  I  long  to  see  you  !  To  see  my 
dear  brother  once  more  !  For  you  are  my  brother— my  only  brother 
I  had  another  but  he  is  in  Heaven,  and  you  seem  to  me  almost  as  far 
away.  Shall  we  never,  never  meet?  Have  you  forgotten  your  boy 
ish  life  ?  Have  you  forgotten  your  adopted  sister  ?  Have  you  for 
gotten  our  rambles  ?  Have  you  forgotten  the  great  rock  in  the 
meadow  where  we  sat  together  on  that  beautiful  summer  day  so  long 
ago,  when  you  told  me  you  were  almost  happy  ?  You  told  me  some 
thing  else.  O,  Donald,  your  words  were  like  arrows !  They  pierced 
my  very  soul.  Do  you  remember  what  you  told  me  then  ?  <  That 
should  misfortune  overtake  me  I  might  fly  to  thee.'  And,  Donald, 
the  tears  which  filled  your  eyes  told  me  you  mean't  every  word  you 
said.  And  I  believed — and  would  again  were  you  here  to  tell  me 
the  same  story.  And,  Donald,  I  kissed  you,  and  I  would  kiss  you 
•  again  for  saying  such  kind  words,  and  I  dare  not  write  what  else  I 
would  do  were  you  here.  But,  O  !  Donald  you  are  across  the  ocean 

'  So  far,  so  far  away, 
Your  stars  are  not  the  stars  I  see 
So  far,  so  far  away.'  " 

"  How  little  I  thought  that  we  were  to  be  separated  so  long  when 
you  left  to  return  to  Boston  !  And  to  think  of  the  years  that  have 
gone  by  since  then  !  But  I  dare  not  think  of  what  has  occurred 
within  those  years.  It  is  a  horrible  dream  from  which  I  have  awak 
ened,  and  yet,  alas  !  Alas  !  it  is  too— too  true.  Why  was  I  left  ? 
Why  was  not  my  poor,  dear  mother  taken  and  I  would  have  prayed 
to  have  gone  with  her.  But  it  was  not  to  be.  Doubtless  we  were 
suffered  to  live  for  some  wise  purpose  which  we  cannot  know. 

"I  must  not  make  you  unhappy  by  telling  you  more  of  my  troubles, 
which  I  feel  are  almost  past.  I  have  been  sad,  who  has  not?  I  have 
suffered,  but  others  have  suffered  more.  And  who  shall  say  I  have 
not  been  happy?  I  will  try  to  be  happy  still,  and  I  will  try  to  make 
happy  those  who  are  around  me.  And  above  all,  Donald,  I  will  try 
to  do  what  I  can  to  add  to  your  happiness,  to  whom  I  am  indebted 
for  so  much." 

The  letter  was  a  long  one,  and  as  we  were  not  supposed  to  read  any 
part  of  it  which  did  not  have  something  to  do  with  the  business  upon 
which  Donald  was  engaged,  we  have  overstepped  the  bounds  already. 
Begging  pardon  for  our  transgression,  we  must  decline  reading  any 
more,  though  we  might  tell  how  she  closed  her  sisterly  epistle. 


THREE    GENERATIONS.  233 

When  Donald  had  finished  reading  Endura's  letter,  he  sat  for 
some  minutes  with  his  head  upon  his  hand,  with  his  eyes  fixed  as 
though  he  were  gazing  into  vacancy.  He  was  alone  and  yet  he 
could  seem  to  hear  voices,  but  what  was  it  that  touched  his  fore 
head  ?  What  soft  breath  upon  his  cheek  ? 

He  rose  and  walked  up  and  down  the  room,  and  as  he  came  past 
the  table  the  second  time,  he  awoke  from  his  reverie.  There  lay  his 
correspondence  before  him,  unread.  He  seated  himself  and  rapidly 
opened  his  letters  and  read  with  avidity  what  they  contained.  They 
were  all  important  and  he  felt  that  the  crisis  was  near,  and  from  that 
moment  no  more  romance,  nothing  but  stern  reality  was  to  be  the 
order  of  his  life. 

He  set  himself  to  work  to  carry  out  if  possible  the  suggestions  of 
his  superiors,  and  with  that  object  in  view,  he  wrote  to  two  of  the 
most  celebrated  lawyers  in  France,  to  know  if  they  would  consent  to 
take  hold  of  a  matter  which  there  was  every  reason  to  believe  would 
pay  them  very  largely  in  case  of  success,  and  said  he,  "  As  it  now 
appears,  there  is  scarcely  a  possibility  of  failure." 

He  referred  them  to  the  United  States  Minister  and  also  to  several 
wealthy  and  substantial  citizens  then  in  that  country,  as  to  the  re 
liability  of  the  gentlemen  with  whom  he  was  associated.  One  of 
the  lawyers  accepted  at  once  and  agreed  to  accept  a  cer 
tain  per  cent,  of  the  enormous  amount  due,  in  case  it  was  recovered, 
or  nothing  if  they  were  unsuccessful.  The  other,  to  whom  he  wrote, 
declined  but  referred  him  to  a  friend  who  had  been  very  successful 
in  a  similar  case,  which  upon  inquiry,  Donald  found  to  be  quite  true, 
and  he  wrote  him  immediately  stating  that  he  had  been  recom 
mended  as  a  proper  person  to  confer  with  upon  a  matter  of  great 
importance.  He  stated  the  name  of  the  other  counsel  and  the  terms 
upon  which  he  undertook  the  case  and  offered  him  the  same  condi' 
which  in  the  end  were  accepted. 

Leaving  Donald  Kent   for  a  time  to   work  out  his  plans,  we  will 

turn  again  to  the  quiet  town  of  S ,  where  most  of  the  characters 

in  this   story   belonged,    when   they   were   first   introduced   to   the 
reader. 

We  have  seen  the  pioneer,  a  prudent,  persevering,  hard  working  man, 
lay  the  foundation  of  a  fortune.  We  have  seen  it  grow  with  him  and 


2 34  ENDURA:  OR, 

become  considerable,  while  he  himself  has  been  crowned  with  honors 
and  became  great  in  the  land. 

But  man  cannot  live  always.  He  died,  and  his  son  took  his  place, 
assuming  his  responsibilities,  and  wearing  his  honors.  He  too  filled 
the  place  assigned  him,  acceptably,  honorably,  and  enjoyed  the  good 
things  which  he  had  inherited;  and  lived  to  do  good,  when  he,  too, 
died;  not  as  his  father  had  done  before  him,  surrounded  by  peace  and 
plenty,  leaving  a  son  to  take  up  his  honors.  He  had  made  a 
mistake  and  poverty  and  distress  was  the  result,  and  premature 
death.  His  son  a  good  young  man  had  gone  before  him,  a  victim  of 
too  much  love  and  confidence,  he  was  like  an  unskilled  mariner 
that  allowed  his  ship  to  drift,  instead  of  grasping  the  helm  and 
steering  it  safely  into  port. 

Walter  Ivers  had  confidence  in  his  son,  and  why  not?  Had  he 
not  given  him  every  advantage  of  education  and  society. 

Was  he  not  naturally  talented  and  smart  to  precosity?  Was  not 
the  opportunity  a  good  one  to  give  him  a  start  ?  Placed  as  an  equal 
partner  in  an  old,  well  established  business,  with  a  large  capital 
and  a  good  trade,  it  would  almost  appear  that  a  business  so  well 
organized  might  run  itself.  Bernard  had  the  benefit  of  the 
experience  of  the  elder  Wheat;  who  had  general  supervision  over  the 
business,  though  his  son  was  a  partner  and  active  business  man. 
The  younger  Wheat  had  always  had  the  teaching  of  a  practical  man  of 
business,  from  the  time  when  his  father  gave  him  a  few  pennies  and 
required  an  account  of  just  how  he  spent  them.  When  he  wanted  a 
little  thing  from  the  store,  he  was  obliged  to  pay  for  it,  as  another 
customer  would  be  obliged  to  do.  And  so  at  school  he  was 
allowed  so  much  a  week  and  no  more.  If  he  contracted  any  debts, 
except  for  some  unforseen  accident,  they  must  be  paid  out  of  the 
next  week's  allowance,  and  consequently  he  had  so  much  less  to 
spend. 

Vacations  he  was  put  at  work  to  earn  a  few  dollars  that  he  might 
know  the  value  of  money.  He  was  taught  practical  book-keeping,  as 
he  was  taught  to  be  practicable  in  everything.  He  was  made  responsi 
ble  and  compelled  to  give  an  account  of  his  doings,  whether  at  school 
or  at  home  in  the  store,  which  made  him  careful  and  at  the  same 
time  self-reliant.  In  short,  Charles  Wheat  was  educated  for  a  mer 


THREE    GENERATIONS.  235 

chant  from  the  time  he  played  marbles  to  the  time  he  assumed  con 
trol  of  his  father's  business,  at  which  time  he  was  well  calculated  to 
be  entrusted  with  its  management. 

How  different  it  was  with  Bernard  Ivers,  a  precocious  child,  petted 
and  flattered  by  everybody,  his  parents  included.  Beloved  for  his 
many  generous,  noble  qualities,  he  reigned  the  favorite  of  the  neigh 
borhood.  At  school  all  looked  upon  him  as  a  youth  of  noble  in 
stincts  and  great  promise.  His  fellow  students  accepted  him  as  a 
model,  and  his  teachers  were  proud  of  him  and  honored  him. 
Mothers  of  refractory  boys  pointed  to  him  as  a  pattern,  and  young 
ladies  thought  him  almost  divine.  What  wonder  that  his  parents 
were  proud  of  him,  or  that  his  father  was  willing  to  trust  his  fortune 
in  his  hands !  That  was  his  mistake  and  a  serious  mistake  it  was,  to 
cast  his  son  into  a  sea  and  command  him  to  swim  ashore  without  first 
teaching  him  how,  trusting  too  much  to  his  natural  abilities.  But  the 
young  man  sank,  and  with  him  went  down  his  father's  hopes  and 
fortune,  and  we  may  say,  his  life. 

It  does  not  take  long  for  deterioration  and  decay  to  show  their 
ravages.  There  is  a  wonderful  difference  whether  a  thrifty  farmer 
owns  and  takes  care  of  his  farm  himself,  or  whether  it  be  leased  for 
the  lessee  to  get  the  most  from  it  that  is  possible  within  a  given  time. 
The  Ivers'  place  began  to  show  neglect  within  one  year  from  the  time 
the  poor  man's  heart  was  broken  and  he  had  died. 

The  walls  would  tumble  down  and  be  allowed  so  to  remain.  Gates 
were  hanging  by  a  single  hinge.  Barn  doors  that  had  been  wrenched 
from  their  positions  were  lying  upon  the  ground,  or  leaning  against  a 
fence  or  stone  wall.  Panes  were  broken  in  the  windows,  and  replaced 
by  old  rags  or  pieces  of  boards.  The  land  was  not  thoroughly  culti 
vated.  Great  patches  were  left  unplowed  here  and  there,  where  it 
was  somewhat  difficult  to  get  without  extra  exertion.  Tools  and 
implements  were  left  in  the  fields  to  rot  and  rust.  In  short,  nothing 
was  done  as  it  was  formerly. 

The  neglect  and  slovenly  appearance  was  noticeable  to  all  who  saw 
it,  that  had  known  it  in  the  days  of  its  prosperity.  It  was  painful  to 
Mrs.  Ivers  to  contemplate  the  great  change.  The  beautiful  home, 
upon  which  she  had  prided  herself  so  much,  almost  in  ruins,  and  so 
soon! 


236  ENDURA  !    OR, 

But  the  master's  hand  had  lost  its  cunning  and  the  active  brain  was 
dust.  The  vital  spark  that  we  call  life,  had  long  since  gone  out,  and 
all  that  lingered  near  was  the  bodiless  spirit  of  the  good  man  that  still 
hovered  around  the  hallowed  spot,  where  mouldered  its  tenement  of 
clay  beneath  the  mound  in  the  meadow. 

This  spot  was  held  sacred,  and  the  lonely  widow  would  often  visit 
it  and  sit  by  the  grave  of  him  who  in  life  she  had  so  dearly  loved.  They 
had  taken  all  from  her.  She  was  as  a  stranger  within  her  own  gates, 
but  this  one  spot  had  remained  inviolate.  It  had  been  set  apart  and 
consecreted  as  the  Ivers'  resting  place.  This  was  the  poor  widow's 
only  earthly  inheritance,  and  this  could  not  be  taken  from  her.  She 
might  go  away,  but  the  graveyard  would  still  be  there,  and  around  it 
would  cling  the  sweet  and  bitter  memories  of  the  past. 

Mr.  Haywood  had  removed  to  the  city.  He  had  suffered  insult 
upon  insult  by  the  ignorant  bigots  of  the  town  and  village.  He  final 
ly  had  an  opportunity  to  sell  his  place, — the  lovely  spot 'that  he  had 
purchased  so  many  years  before,  and  where  he  hoped  to  enjoy  so 
much  with  his  family  growing  up  around  him.  Amid  such  rural 
scenes,  he  had  hoped  to  make  friends  of  the  villagers  ;  and  by  affilia 
ting  with  them  he  expected  that  they  would  gradually  forget  their  pre 
judice  and  be  tolerant  at  least  of  him  and  his  religion,  which  he  did 
not  wish  them  to  believe  or  listen  to;  as  in  all  cases  he  was  careful 
not  to  intrude  his  doctrines  upon  them,  but  he  had  utterly  failed  in 
his  hopes  and  expectations.  The  people  of  the  village  were  much  as 
they  had  been  when  first  he  went  there  to  reside. 

The  prejudice  of  the  parents  seemed  to  have  been  inherited  by  the 
children.  If  possible,  more  bitter  in  the  second  than  in  the  first  gen 
eration.  So  narrow-minded  had  they  become  that  no  new  or  ad 
vanced  belief  would  be  tolerated.  And  eventhe  old  orthodox  beliefs 
that  had  been  promulgated  for  hundreds  of  years,  if  they,  in  any  way, 
clashed  with  their  contracted  and  somewhat  unreasonable  religion 
were  discountenanced  and  cried  down.  A  town  or  village  that  ex 
pects  to  live  entirely  within  itself  must  not  expect  to  flourish. 

Certain  sects  like  the  Shakers,  and  perhaps  two  or  three  others,  have 
tried  the  experiment  of  sectarianism.  They  have  built  their  villages 
separate  and  apart  from  the  rest  of  the  world,  and  have  governed 
them  according  to  their  own  peculiar  ideas.  They  have  been  very 


THREE    GENERATIONS.  237 

consistent  and  exceedingly  moral  citizens.     But  who  ever  heard  of  a 
Shaker  village  becoming  a  city  ? 

The  village  of  W could  never  be  expected  to  flourish,  no  mat 
ter  what  might  be  its  natural  advantages,  so  long  as  bigotry,  ignorance 
and  intolerance  existed,  as  they  did  at  the  time  George  Haywood 
went  there  to  live. 

To-day  the  result  is  apparent,  in  the  place  that  was  then  suffi 
ciently  attractive  in  its  natural  surroundings  to  induce  gentlemen  of 
taste  and  refinement  to  settle  in  for  their  country  homes,  to-day  it  is 
emphatically  a  deserted  village.  People  and  capital  shun  it  as 
though  it  were  infected. 

The  splendid  stream  now  runs  to  waste  that  was  wont  to  turn  a 
thousand  wheels,  which  gave  employment  to  scores  of  worthy  people 
who  made  their  homes  upon  its  banks,  and  were  as  happy  as  it  is 
possible  for  those  in  their  condition  in  life  to  be. 

The  new  blood  which  from  time  to  time  was  infused  into  the  body 
politic  was  soon  absorbed,  and  so  mingled  with  the  old,  that  a 
stranger  could  not  distinguish  the  one  from  the  other. 

To-day  the  houses  are  abandoned  and  locked  up  with  padlocks, 
while  the  tooth  of  time  is  fast  doing  its  work.  One  by  one  they  are 
torn,  or  tumble  down,  and  taken  away  piecemeal,  so  that  the  once 
pleasant,  thriving  village  is  fast  disappearing. 

It  may  not  be  all  due  to  the  selfishness  of  the  inhabitants,  or  to  the 
narrowness  of  their  religious  belief,  but  it  is  evident  that  the  old 
Puritanical  doctrines  must  be  modified,  or  give  way  to  the  more  gen 
erous  and  Christian-like  sentiment  of  modern  times.  The  Christian 
religion  is  not  what  it  was  a  century  ago.  There  have  been  made 
long  strides  since  then.  Christians  have  become  more  liberal. 
There  is  less  mystery  about  religion  than  there  used  to  be.  There 
was  a  time  when  faith  had  a  great  deal  to  do  with  it.  We  were 
asked  to  have  faith  when  we  scarcely  knew  the  meaning  of  the  word. 
Everything  was  construed  literally,  until  a  literal  construction  could 
go  no  farther,  when  we  were  told  that  God  did  not  intend  we  should 
know  any  more,  and  that  it  was  wicked  to  attempt  it.  We  were  not 
allowed  to  reason.  Fanatics  never  reason. 

Of  two  things  they  were  certain, — that  we  were  born,  and  that  we 
must  die.  After  death,  if  we  lead  a  godly  life  and  join  the  church, 


238  ENDURA:  OR, 

we  would  be  allowed  to  walk  the  golden  streets  of  the  new  Jerusalem. 
Whatever  that  meant  was  hard  to  say;  but  it  was  intended  as  a  kind 
of  metaphor  illustrating  something  entirely  unearthly.  Streets  paved 
with  gold,  and  eternal  day,  would  not  be  half  so  inviting  to  us  as 
would  be  earth,  and  flowers,  and  green  fields,  and  quiet  nights,  when 
the  angels'  harps  would  be  silent,  and  we  could  rest. 

But  there  are  so  many  kinds  of  heavens.  To  the  untraveled  na 
tive  of  the  tropics,  the  icebound  regions  of  the  north  are  dreamed  of 
as  an  ideal  heaven.  The  Icelander  builds  him  a  heaven  with  ever 
lasting  summer, — with  delicious  fruits  and  fragrant  flowers.  Either 
might  reach  his  paradise,  but  somehow  very  few  voluntarily  set  out 
upon  the  journey. 

The  orthodox  Christian  tells  us  that  heaven  is  such  a  delightful 
place.  He  claims  to  have  faith,  and  fully  believes  what  he  says;  and 
yet  the  most  positive  rarely  wish  to  change  the  questionable  happi 
ness  of  this  world  for  the  assured  bliss  of  the  next. 


THREE    GENERATIONS.  239 


CHAPTER  XXVI. 

ONE    WAY    TO    HEAVEN. 

For  modes  of  faith  let  graceless  zealots  fight, 
His  can't  be  wrong,  whose  life  is  in  the  right. 

Pope's  Essay  on  Man. 

Yet  some  there  are  of  men  I  think  the  worst, 
Poor  imps!  unhappy,  if  they  can't  be  cursed. 

Dr.  WolcoVs  Peter  Finder. 

THE  wretch  who  suffers  almost  beyond  endurance  here  in  body  or 
mind,  says  to  himself,  "  The  other  world  cannot  be  worse,  and 
it  may  be  better,"  he  alone  is  anxious  to  try  it;  but  the  puritanical 
doctrine  would  not  allow  them  to  escape  so  easily.  The  chances 
were  that  they  might  go  to  hell  anyhow;  but  if  they  dared  to  shorten 
their  misery  in  order  the  sooner  to  enjoy  the  paradise  which  they  have 
had  pictured  to  them  so  graphically,  they  were  sure  to  miss  their  aim 
and  be  cast  into  a  lake  of  fire  and  brimstone,  to  burn  forever. 

Such  was  the  doctrine  preached  in  New  England  fifty  years  ago — 
twenty  years  ago — ten  years  ago — five  years  ago — and  such  is  the 
doctrine  preached  there  to-day,  and  in  some  portions  of  New  Eng 
land  they  will  not  listen  to  any  other.  Their  argument  is,  that  if  any 
one  ventures  another  and  less  revolting  belief,  that  they  are  trying  to 
get  into  heaven  an  easier  way,  for  which  they  must  be  punished 
much  the  same  as  the  boy  who  climbs  a  barbed  wire  fence  to  steal 
apples,  rather  than  go  around  and  ask  the  farmer  to  allow  him  to  pick 
them.  He  has  no  right  to  try  to  get  in  except  by  the  route  laid  down 
by  themselves. 

We  do  not  wish  to  be  understood  to  say  that  the  most  unreason 
able,  are  not  conscientious  in  their  belief ;  on  the  contrary,  we  think 
they  are,  and  it  is  only  their  lack  of  knowledge  of  the  world,  that 
makes  them  the  bigots  that  they  are.  "  The  fool  is  wise  in  his  own 
conceit,"  and  the  more  ignorant  the  people  of  a  community  are,  the 
more  difficult  it  is  to  appeal  to  their  reason.  They  are  effected  by 
supernatural  things,  simply  because  they  cannot  be  made  to  under- 


24°  ENDURA:    OR. 

stand  them;  when  they  become  enlightened,  they  admit  the  truth  and 
pity  those  who  cannot  be  made  to  understand  it,  just  as  much  as 
they  formerly  disputed  and  despised  those  who  in  the  end  taught  it  to 
them. 

They  worship  the  incomprehensible,  as  the  heathen  worships 
the  snow-capped  mountain,  or  the  ocean,  or  the  sun  or  fire,  just  be 
cause  they  cannot  approach  them.  They  magnify  what  is  afar  off 
and  despise  the  things  which  are  near.  They  overlook  mankind  to 
dwell  with  the  gods,  while  they  cannot  rise  above  the  earth.  Such  is 
bigotry;  such  is  the  religion  of  the  ignorant;  such  is  the  result  of 
the  teachings  of  to-day,  in  the  old  homes  of  New  England. 

The  two  lawyers  which  Donald  Kent  enlisted  in  his  case  proved 
to  be  the  best  that  could  possibly  have  been  selected. 

They  took  hold  of  the  matter  in  earnest  and  it  was  not  long  before 
it  was  brought  before  the  proper  tribunal,  which  in  the  end  rendered 
a  decision  in  favor  of  the  claimants  by  which  the  heirs  of  Louis  de 
Brue  were  awarded  the  entire  estate  with  every  thing  appertaining 
thereunto,  including  the  title's  which  the  owner  had  been  deprived 
of  at  the  time  of  the  confiscation.  The  castle  and  all  of  the  lands 
and  buildings  and  hereditaments,  were  to  be  turned  over  to  the  heirs 
immediately;  while  the  net  income  of  the  estate,  since  the  Government 
had  had  it  in  charge  being  in  bonds  and  national  security,  was  easily 
convertible  into  cash. 

The  attorneys  who  had  been  engaged  by  Donald  were  more  than 
satisfied  with  their  commissions.  And  the  Consul  at  Marseilles  had 
the  largest  fee  that  had  ever  been  paid  to  any  Consul  at  that  place, 
before  or  since.  The  business  was  soon  settled  sufficiently  for  our 
young  friend  to  take  his  leave,  and  return  once  more  to  his  native 
land.  But  he  did  not  forget  his  old  friend,  the.  keeper  of  the  Castle 
When  all  had  been  settled  and  he  had  been  put  in  possession  as  agent 
of  the  heirs,  he  visited  the  old  chateau  and  called  upon  the  old  man 
who  was  still  to  be  left  in  charge.  The  old  soldier  appeared  to  be 
ready  to  march  as  soon  as  he  saw  the  agent  of  the  new  owners.  He 
had  already  been  informed  of  the  decision  and  of  the  transfer  of  the 
property ;  and  he  expected  to  be  sent  off  at  once.  What  must  have 
been  his  surprise,  then,  when  told  by  Donald  that  he  wished  him  to 
remain  at  an  increased  salary,  at  the  same  time  placing  in  his 


THREE    GENERATIONS.  24! 

hands  a  package  containing  one  thousand  francs  as  a  present!  That 
to  the  poor,  old  man  was  a  fortune  itself,  and  his  gratitude  knew  no 
bounds.  He  would  have  kissed  Donald,  who  promised  to  come  and 
see  him  again  at  no  very  distant  day.  But  he  appeared  timid  in  the 
presence  of  one  grown  suddenly  so  great.  The  young  man  was  con 
gratulated  by  the  many  friends  he  had  made  during  his  long  sojourn 
among  them.  All  appeared  to  see  much  more  in  the  handsome  young 
American  than  they  had  been  able  to  see  before.  And  there  was 
little  wonder,  for,  had  he  not  managed  and  brought  to  a  successful 
termination  a  great  suit? 

Had  he  not  secured  to  worthy  people  their  rights  and  titles  ?  The 
modest  lady,  beyond  the  sea,  living  in  obscurity,  had  suddenly 
become  the  Marchioness  of  Vieux ;  and  they  looked  forward  to  the 
time  when  the  old  castle  should  be  restored  to  its  pristine  glory,  and 
the  abandoned  or  neglected  cottages  in  the  village  and  the  vine-clad 
homes  in  the  valley  would  be  repaired  and  reinhabited. 

The  Chateau  Vieux  has  been  alluded  to  as  an  old  castle  which  had 
been  allowed  to  crumble  away  from  year  to  year,  and  fromdecade  to 
decade,  until  it  was  fast  becoming  an  irreparable  ruin.  Great  fissures- 
were  seen  in  the  walls,  while  here  and  there  portions  of  the  projec 
tions  and  ornamental  work  had  fallen  off,  leaving  ugly  gapes  over 
which  the  ivy  had  thrown  its  mantle  of  green  as  if  to  shield  the 
mound  from  the  fiery  sun  or  threatening  tempest.  The  heavy  embra 
sures  and  merlons,  which  formed  the  cornice  at  the  top,  had,  one  by 
one,  broken  away  and  fallen  to  the  ground.  The  main  tower  was 
much  cracked  but  appeared  upright  and  firm. 

The  second  tower,  which  had  formerly  had  a  dome-shaped  top, 
was  much  disfigured.  A  portion  of  the  arch  had  fallen  in,  which 
left  an  unsightly  hole  which  had  been  boarded  up  temporarily  to 
prevent  the  storms'  beating  in  and  ruining  the  ceilings  and  floors  of 
the  different  stories ;  but  the  repairs  were  made  too  late,  for  much 
damage  had  been  done,  and  a  great  deal  of  the  once  beautiful  fresco 
ing  was  little  more  than  mould  blots,  devoid  of  all  the  tints  of 
beauty  that  once  characterized  it.  The  great  arch  over  the  main 
entrance  was  badly  cracked  and  looked  threatening.  The  windows 
were  small,  except  that  in  the  main  tower  and  one  in  the  end  of 
the  Gothic  wing  which  joined  it  upon  one  side.  The  other  wing 


242  ENDURA  :    OR, 

which  appeared  to  have  been  built  first  was  much  cracked  and  dis 
figured  ;  but  it  was  so  well  covered  with  ivy  that  but  little  of  the  bare 
wall  was  to  be  seen. 

Indeed,  the  whole  structure,  or  more  properly  structures,  were  vast 
ruins,  imposing  and  picturesque.  The  grounds  surrounding  the 
castle  had  once  been  beautifully  kept,  and  choice  shrubbery  had 
been  planted  which  had  struggled  and  clung  to  life  for  more  than 
two  score  years.  Each  tree  and  shrub  and  flower  seemed  to  say, 
"  Help,  or  I  perish  ! "  Many  had  already  done  so,  and  others  were 
lingering  in  the  throes  of  death,  pleading  for  life. 

The  chateau  was  beautifully  situated,  overlooking  the  valley  and 
the  river  which  wound  through  it.  The  site  was  commanding,  se 
lected  as  well  for  the  view  it  gave  of  the  valley  as  for  its  position  for 
defense,  which,  at  the  time  the  first  portion  was  erected,  was  an  im 
portant  consideration.  The  river  which  ran  parallel  with  one  side  of 
the  castle  suddenly  turned  and  ran  in  front  of  it.  There  had  for 
merly  been  a  moat  surrounding  it,  which  had  been  spanned  in  front 
by  a  bridge,  with  a  rude  stone  arch,  which  appeared  to  have  withstood 
the  ravages  of  time  wonderfully.  In  fact,  it  seemed  as  strong  and 
safe  as  it  was  when  it  was  fiist  constructed.  The  moat  itself  had 
gradually  been  filled  with  accumulating  mould,  until  in  some  places 
there  was  scarcely  any  depression  to  show  where  it  had  once  been. 
Some  indigenous  trees  and  bushes  had  taken  root  upon  the  embank 
ments,  and  grew  in  place  of  the  once  choice  exotics  which  had  been 
cultivated  with  so  much  care  by  the  former  tenants.  The  driveway 
that  led  up  to  the  chateau  could  be  indistinctly  made  out  as  it  wound 
up  the  acclivity.  But  vegetation  had  so  overgrown  it  that  in  many 
places  it  appeared  like  the  field  by  its  side. 

There  had  formerly  been  at  the  entrance  of  the  grounds  a  porter's 
lodge,  but  it  had  been  torn  down  long  since  and  carried  away  piece 
meal  to  repair  the  cottages  or  other  buildings  ;  so  that  there  were  but 
slight  indications  that  it  had  ever  been  there  at  all.  The  storehouses 
were  generally  in  good  repair  as  well  as  the  cottages  which  have  been 
referred  to  before.  In  short,  everything  except  the  chateau  and  the 
grounds  surrounding  it  appeared  to  have  been  kept  in  good  repair. 

The  tenants  were  assured  by  the  course  of  the  agent  that  he  would 


THREE    GENERATIONS.  243 

be  kind  and  considerate.  Having  his  praises  constantly  sounded  in 
their  ears,  they  believed  him  almost  a  saint. 

Donald  succeeded  in  arranging  everything  to  his  satisfaction  before 
taking  his  departure.  After  many  pleasant  adieus  he  set  out  for 
Havre,  where  he  was  to  take  the  steamer  for  America.  After  an 
absence  of  more  than  three  years,  he  found  himself  on  board  of  that 
magnificent  specimen  of  naval  architecture,  the  "Ville  de  Tours," 
on  his  way  to  New  York. 

Who  can  realize  his  feelings  as  each  stroke  of  the  piston  forced 
the  great  ship  onward  toward  that  land  of  all  lands  the  best,  his 
native  land — the  land  of  the  Golden  West !  A  feeling  of  gratitude 
swelled  within  him  as  the  good  ship  bore  him  on.  He  realized  the 
difference  between  his  feelings  then  and  the  time  when  he  set  out 
upon  his  great  quest. 

He  did  not  forget  to  look  to  Him  who  had  guided  and  pro 
tected  him  through  the  years  of  labor  and  anxiety  ;to  Him  whose  finger 
had  been  visible  in  the  mercies  and  blessings  which  he  had  enjoyed, 
and  he  silently  prayed  for  His  guidance  still.  He  colud  not  help  but 
acknowledge  the  intervention  of  Providence  in  his  behalf  which  made 
possible  a  settlement  which  he  considered  so  favorable  ;  and  now  he 
was  bearing  the  glad  tidings  to  those  who  little  dreamed  of  the 
wealth  and  honors  which  awaited  them. 

Every  evolution  of  the  great  screw  brought  him  nearer  and  nearer 
home,  the  land  of  his  birth,  the  home  of  his  childhood,  the  pleasant 
land  of  his  dreams. 

Upon  reaching  New  York,  he  attended  to  some  matters  which 
were  of  importance,  and  then  left  directly  for  Boston,  where  he  arrived 
the  next  morning,  and  a  more  welcome  visitor  never  entered  the 
office  of  the  great  lawyers  in  Berwick  square  than  Donald  Kent  up 
on  that  bright  autumn  morning. 

He  was  treated  like  a  great  hero  who  had  returned  from  the  wars,, 
covered  with  glory.  It  was  early  in  the  week  when  he  reached  the 
office  of  Stern  &  Strong  ;  that  day  and  the  day  following  was  occu 
pied  in  his  accounting  for  his  stewardship.  The  third  day  he  left 
for  S — • — ,  where  the  wonderful  news  had  not  yet  been  told. 

In  order  that  there  might  not  be  any  delay  and  that  he  might  be 
entirely  independent  to  go  and  come  when  he  should  choose,  he  en- 


244  ENDURA  :     OR, 

gaged  an  elegant  turnout  and  drove  out  instead  of  going  by    railroad 
and  stage  coach. 

It  was  Friday  afternoon  as  he  came  around  a  bend  in  the  road, 
the  old  school-house  came  in  full  view,  that  same  old  school-house 
where  he  had  been  both  pupil  and  teacher. 

His  heart  leaped  to  his  throat  as  the  past  came  so  vividly  before 
him.  How  well  he  remembered  the  dear  old  home  and  the  paths 
that  diverged  from  its  door  steps  !  How  well  he  remembered  his 
trials  aud  his  triumphs  there  and  the  scholars  now  scattered  far  and 
near  !  And  then  of  his  sweet  little  charge,  dear  little  Dura  !  What 
if  she  were  there  now  ! 

He  drove  slowly  along,  lost  in  reverie,  until  he  found  himself 
halting  in  front  of  the  house.  The  door  was  closed  and  all  was  still. 
His  first  impulse  was  to  get  out  and  hitch  his  horses,  just  to  look 
around  to  see  what  changes  three  summers  had  made  about  the  once 
familar  nooks,  but  he  concluded  to  drive  on.  He  had  driven  but  a 
short  distance  when  he  discovered  a  lady  walking  in  the  middle  of  the 
road.  She  had  no  hat  on  but  carried  a  sunshade.  She  appeared  to  be 
deep  in  thought,  when  hearing  a  carriage  coming  behind  her,  she  glanced 
around  and  stepped  aside  to  let  it  pass. 

At  first  Donald  was  dumb;  but  recovering  himself  he  spoke  in  an 
assumed  voice,  asking  her  if  she  would  be  kind  enough  to  tell  him  if 
the  widow  Ivers  lived  near  there.  She  said  it  was  but  a  short  dis 
tance  ahead;  indeed,  it  was  just  then  brought  in  full  view.  Donald 
said  he  was  commissioned  to  deliver  her  a  message. 

Endura  told  him  she  was  Mrs.  Ivers'  daughter,  and  would  be 
happy  to  take  any  message  to  her  mother,  if  it  was  not  a  disagree 
able  one.  Or  he  could  call;  she  had  no  doubt  but  that  her  mother 
would  be  in. 

Donald  changed  the  tone  of  his  voice,  saying  one  word,  "En- 
dura,"  when  quick  as  thought  he  dismounted  and  clasped  her  in  his 
arms.  He  kissed  her  forhead,  her  cheeks,  and  her  lips,  while  she 
clung  to  him  speechless.  He  embraced  her  and  she  clung  closer 
still,  as  though  she  would  awake  and  her  exceeding  joy  prove  but  an 
illusory  dream.  Finally,  lifting  her  eyes,  she  said: 

"  O,  Donald,  is  it  really  you  ?  If  I  dream,  let  me  dream  on.  To 
awake  and  find  you  gone  would  be  terrible." 

"  Fear  not,  Endura,  it  is  I.     It  is  your  old  friend  Donald;    brother, 


THREE    GENERATIONS.  245 

if  you  will;  or  call  me  by  a  dearer  name.  But  we  must  not  remain 
standing  here.  I  will  assist  you  into  the  carnage  and  take  you  home." 

"  No,  thanks;  it  is  so  short  a  distance  that  I  would  rather  you 
drive  on  alone  to  see  if  mother  will  be  more  wise  than  I.  I  think 
she  will  know  you  in  spite  of  your  beard  and  altered  voice." 

It  was  settled  that  Donald  should  go  ahead,  while  she  lingered  by 
the  way.  He  drove  up  and  hitched  his  horses,  and  walked  up  the 
path  through  the  lawn. 

Mrs.  Ivers,  expecting  Endura,  happened  to  glance  out  of  the  win 
dow  just  as  he  was  about  coming  up.  Something  seemed  to  tell  her 
it  was  Donald.  It  might  have  been  his  step;  or  she  might  have 
been  thinking  of  him,  for  certainly  his  personal  appearance  had  so 
changed  within  three  years,  with  beard  all  over  his  face,  and  the  style 
of  dress  so  different  that  he  would  scarcely  have  recognized  his  own 
picture.  It  must  have  been  instinct  that  told  her  it  was  he.  Hurry 
ing  to  the  door  she  spoke  his  name,  and,  like  Endura,  could  say  no 
more.  But  welcome  tears  came  to  her  relief  as  he  clasped  her  in 
his  arms  and  kissed  her  so  lovingly.  He  held  her  thus  but  a  mo 
ment,  while  she  sobbed  upon  his  breast  as  though  he  were  her  own 
son  come  back  from  the  spirit  world. 

He  assisted  her  to  the  sofa  and  sat  down  beside  her,  while  she 
laughed  and  cried  at  the  same  time,  scarcely  uttering  a  word.  All  at 
once  her  senses  seemed  to  return,  and  she  thought  of  Endura  and 
how  she  would  meet  him.  She  spoke  her  name,  and  said  she  ex 
pected  her  every  minute  and  wondered  if  she  would  know  him. 

Then  Donald  began  to  tell  her  of  his  meeting  with  Endura,  when 
the  door  opened  and  she  came  in.  Donald  had  her  sit  down  upon 
the  other  side,  while  he  sat  between  mother  and  daughter,  and  it 
would  have  been  difficult  to  have  told  which  were  the  more  happy  of 
the  trio.  They  sat  thus  until  he  thought  of  his  neglected  team, 
which  now  claimed  his  attention.  It  was  well  that  he  understood 
the  care  of  horses;  now  it  served  him.  The  faithful  animals  were 
soon  in  their  stalls,  well  provided  for,  while  the  carriage  was  hauled 
in  out  of  the  weather.  He  then  put  his  harness  and  wraps  away, 
where  he  had  many  times  before  put  others  not  as  elegant.  When 
everything  was  attended  to,  he  took  his  satchel  and  some  newspapers 
and  entered  the  house. 


246  ENDURA:  OR, 

Endura  awaited  him  impatiently  in  the  parlor,  while  Mrs.  Ivers 
set  herself  about  getting  something  nice  for  his  supper.  Donald's 
face  beamed  with  joy  unspeakable,  and  Endura's  wore  that  sweet, 
sad  smile  that  was  almost  heavenly.  She  had  on  her  school  dress 
with  a  neat,  plain  collar  and  cuffs.  On  her  bosom  were  fastened 
some  Autumn  flowers,  among  which  were  sprigs  of  myrtle  and  golden 
rod — "love  in  absence,"  and  "encouragement."  How  appropriate, 
yet  how  unstudied! 

She  said  there  was  no  use  for  her  to  apologize  since  she  did  not 
expect  visitors,  and,  above  all,  such  a  visitor.  She  said  she  had  been 
thinking  of  him  all  day,  and  had  actually  commenced  a  letter  to  him, 
but  he  was  certainly  the  very  last  person  she  expected  to  see. 

It  would  be  impossible  to  tell  all  that  was  said  ;  but,  reader,  put 
yourself  in  his  or  her  place  as  the  case  may  be,  and  think  what  you 
would  say  or  do. 

Endura  sat  beside  him,  and  no  word  or  whisper  escaped  her  ready 
ear.  She  hung  upon  his  words  as  though  her  soul  feasted.  And  he 
could  scarcely  speak,  her  beauty  and  lovliness  so  entranced  him. 
And  so  the  hour  went  by,  when  the  good  mother  came  and  said  tea 
was  ready  and  she  knew  he  must  be  almost  famished. 

They  all  sat  down  together,  and,  notwithstanding  he  had  eaten 
nothing  since  early  in  the  day,  he  seemed  to  prefer  talking  to  eating  ; 
and  so  an  hour  was  spent  in  pleasant  conversation. 

They  talked  of  the  past  and  of  the  many  changes  that  had  taken 
place  since  he  had  been  away. 

Donald  said  they  had  been  with  him  in  foreign  lands,  and  he  saw 
them  as  they  then  were  sitting  together.  He  said  he  had  antici 
pated  that  very  minute.  "But,"  said  he,  " the  reality  is  more  de 
lightful  than  my  dream  could  have  been,  for  I  bring  you  good  news, 
so  good  that  I  cannot  tell  it  myself ;  so  I  will  read  from  a  newspaper 
I  brought  with  me  :" 

A     MARCHIONESS    AMONG    US. 

The  latest  sensation  is  that  an  immense  estate  in  the  south  of 
France  has  just  been  secured  to  the  heirs  in  this  country. 

The  widow  and  daughter  of  the  late  General  Walter  Ivers  of  S , 

are  sole  heirs  to  fabulous  wealth,  which  they  inherited  from  Louis  de 
Brue,  the  father  of  Mrs.  Ivers,  who,  with  his  wife  and  daughter,  were 


THREE    GENERATIONS.  247 

ostracised  at  the  time  Bonaparte  was  in  power,  and  escaped 
to  this  country  to  save  their  heads.  His  estate  was  confis 
cated  to  the  Empire,  and  so  held  until  the  fall  of  Napoleon  and 
after,  until  the  rightful  heirs  could  be  discovered. 

When  the  Marquis  de  Brue,  known  in  this  county  as  Mr.  Dubrow, 
was  advised  of  the  downfall  of  Bonaparte,  he  made  preparations  to 
return  to  France  immediately  and  claim  his  titles  and  estates. 

As  soon  as  he  could  dispose  of  what  little  personal  property  he  had 
left,  he,  with  his  wife  and  daughter,  took  passage  on  the  ill-fated 
packet-ship  "King  Phillip,"  which  foundered  at  sea  and  went  down. 

Only  two  of  the  passengers  were  saved — his  daughter,  now  the 
widow  Ivers,  and  a  man  who  has  not  since  been  heard  from. 

About  five  years  ago,  some  papers  came  to  light,  which,  if  genuine, 
would  establish  the  claims  of  certain  parties  to  his  estate.  An  inves 
tigation  was  accordingly  made,  which  resulted  in  a  complete  victory, 
not  for  the  pretended  heirs,  who  were  put  forward  by  scheming  and 
dishonest  parties  to  further  their  own  ends. 

But  the  fraud  was  discovered  in  time  to  save  the  property  to  its 
rightful  and  worthy  owners.  Messrs.  Stern  &  Strong  of  Boston,  are 
the  attorneys  for  the  claimants ;  and  their  agent  and  co-worker,  the 
one  to  whom  great  credit  and  honor  is  due,  is  a  gentleman  who  has 
long  been  associated  with  them,  by  the  name  of  Donald  Kent,  who  has 
given  the  matter  his  personal  attention,  and  brought  it  to  its  successful 
issue.  Mr.  Kent  has  resided  in  France  for  three  years  and  he  has  done 
himself  and  his  country  great  credit  by  his  diplomacy  in  the  manage 
ment  of  the  great  case,  as  well  as  for  his  geniality,  high  sense  of  honor 
and  generous  hospitality,  for  which  he  was  ever  noted,  and  which 
has  marked  his  conduct  during  his  sojourn  among  them. 

Mr.  Kent  secured  the  services  of  two  prominent  French  attorneys, 
who,  with  the  assistance  of  the  consul  at  Marseilles,  did  much  to 
bring  about  the  result.  Altogether  it  was  a  most  remarkable  case. 
The  amount  involved  was  enormous,  estimated  by  some  as  high  as 
one  hundred  millions  of  francs,  equal  to  twenty  millions  of  dollars. 
It  will  make  all  those  rich  who  have  been  concerned  in  it,  and  leave 
a  colossal  fortune  to  the  heirs,  of  which  there  are  but  two. 

No  greater  compliment  can  be  paid  Mr.  Kent  than  has  been  given 
him  by  Messrs.  Stern  &  Strong,  with  whom  he  will  be  associated  here 
after  as  a  law  partner;  and  we  learn  that  he  will  be  the  active 
partner,  as  both  the  senior  partners  have  signified  their  intention  of 
shifting  some  of  their  responsibilities  upon  younger  shoulders,  and 
none  more  worthy  or  capable  upon  which  their  mantle  should  fall 
could  be  found  than  their  junior  partner. 

Donald  said  he  thought  the  article  gave  him  more  credit  than  he 
deserved.  He  said  he  was  but  an  instrument  in  the  hand  of  Providence, 


248  ENDURA  :    OR, 

who  had  been  permitted  to  ri^ht  a  great  wrong,  for  which  he  had  al 
ready  received  his  reward. 

He  said:  "  It  was  accidental  that  I  was  selected  to  undertake  the 
mission.  Had  it  so  happened  that  another  had  been  appointed,  I 
suppose  the  result  would  have  been  the  same.  I  take  nothing  to  my 
self.  I  did  my  duty.  Providence  did  the  rest.  It  was  accidental 
that  I  was  commissioned  to  investigate  the  case;  accidental  that  I 
stumbled  upon  certain  relics  and  papers,  which  first  awakened  my  in 
terest  in  your  behalf;  accidental  that  the  letter  of  most  importance 
was  found ;  accidental  that  it  fell  into  the  hands  which  it  did  ;  acci 
dental  that  Mons.  Trecher  employed  Messrs.  Stern  &  Strong ;  ac 
cidental  that  Joe  Tartar  placed  the  letter  with  one  who  comprehended 
its  importance,  and  it  was  accidental  that  the  cunning  rascal  never 
knew  who  had  his  matter  in  charge.  I  might  mention  many  more 
accidents,  all  tending  to  happy  results. 

"  But  I  will  change  the  word.  Instead  of  accidental  I  will  rever 
ently  say  providential.  For  I  can  seem  to  see  the  finger  of  Providence 
in  it  all,  and  whatever  good  may  have  come  of  it  is  due  to  a  higher 
power  than  mine.  I  am  grateful  for  the  flattering  compliments  which 
have  been  paid  me  everywhere,  but  I  am  sure  you  will  believe  me 
when  I  tell  you  that  your  approval  of  my  actions  gives  me  greater 
pleasure  than  all  the  others." 

Mrs.  Ivers  said  he  appeared  to  have  been  raised  up  by  the  Al 
mighty  to  be  her  benefactor,  and  smooth  the  path  of  her  life's  decline. 
When  he  was  but  a  boy  she  recognized  in  him  those  sterling  qualities 
which  had  since  made  him  great.  She  had  always  told  her  husband 
that  Donald  Kent  would  make  his  mark,  but  she  little  dreamed  in 
what  direction  or  what  would  be  the  result. 

"  I  am  sure  we  can  never  repay  you,  but  if  the  love  and  everlast 
ing  gratitude  of  a  poor,  lonely  woman  can  be  any  recompense,  you 
have  it.  And  I  am  sure  I  speak  the  sentiments  of  my  dear  daughter, 
who  has  heen  my  stay  and  my  staff  since  her  father's  death. 

"  If  we  love  you  too  much  you  cannot  blame  us,  for  do  we  not  owe 
everything  to  you  ?  And  now  that  you  have  become  great  we  hope 
you  will  not  forget  us." 

"My  dear  Mrs.  Ivers,"  said  Donald,  "you  are  the  one  who  has 
become  great.  Are  you  not  a  marchioness  of  France  ?  And  think 


THREE    GENERATIONS  249 

of  your  chateau  and  your  great  possessions  !  You  are  to-day  one  of 
the  richest  ladies  in  the  land." 

"  And  Donald,  I  would  willingly  give  it  all,  if  you  were  my  son, 
or  if  you  will  promise  me  to  remain  with  us  and  take  care  of  it  for 
me.  But  you  will  not.  Misfortunes  have  come  in  such  rapid  suc 
cession  since  you  left  us  that  I  feel  that  I  have  nothing  else  to  expect 
in  the  future.  As  you  have  ever  been  our  good  angel,  I  beg  that  you 
will  remain  with  us,  and  we  will  do  all  we  can  to  make  you  happy. 
You  say  we  have  enough.  Take  it  all  and  stay  with  us." 

Donald  attempted  to  say  that  duty  called  him  elsewhere,  but  that  he 
should  see  them  often  and  assist  them  in  every  way  they  might  wish. 

Endura,  who  had  hitherto  remained  silent,  said,  "Must  you  indeed 
leave  us?  Have  you  just  come  to  make  us  happy  for  an  hour,  and 
then  to  leave  us  again  in  our  loneliness  ?  If  you  go  I  am  afraid  you 
will  never  return." 

"If  I  thought  that,"  said  Donald,  "I  would  never  leave  you." 

The  evening  passed  in  pleasant  conversation,  Donald  inquiring 
after  this,  that  and  the  other  one  of  his  old-time  friends  and  acquaint 
ances.  But  amid  all  his  joy,  he  did  not  forget  that  he  had  other 
pleasant  duties  to  discharge,  other  friends  to  see.  His  own  family 
were  much  scattered.  His  father  and  mother  lived  a  considerable 
distance  off  in  the  adjoining  county,  working  hard,  it  was  said,  trying 
to  make  both  ends  meet. 

His  brothers  and  sisters  were  employed  in  different  places,  also 
eking  out  a  precarious  living,  each  assisting  the  old  people  as  much 
as  their  slender  means  would  allow.  Donald  determined  to  go  and 
see  his  father  and  mother  the  next  day,  and  it  was  arranged  that 
Endura  should  accompany  him,  which  to  her  was  a  promise  of  more 
happiness  in  store.  And  so  the  evening  passed.  They  were  all  very 
tired,  but  they  seemed  to  find  no  place  to  leave  off  the  pleasant  con 
versation. 

Donald  was  admonished  by  the  lateness  of  the  hour,  and  sug 
gested  that  they  had  better  retire.  So,  bidding  them  good  night,  he 
went  to  his  room,  and  it  seemed  as  though  it  was  but  yesterday  since 
he  occupied  the  room  before — so  natural  were  all  the  surroundings. 
Everything  was  just  the  same.  The  flowers  were  in  the  same  vases, 
and  little  mementoes  were  scattered  around.  True,  the  flowers  were 


ENDURA  !    OR, 

not  those  of  spring,  but  autumn's  glories  were  there  in  their  stead. 
If  their  perfume  was  less,  their  beauty  was  enhanced;  and,  like  him 
self,  they  were  hardy  and  represented  the  season  of  maturity  and  ful 
ness.  Their  foliage  was  tipped  with  autumnal  tints,  so  mellow  and 
so  lovely. 

The  morning  came  when  the  happy  pair  were  to  take  an  early 
start,  expecting  to  return  the  same  day.  As  they  drove  along,  scene 
after  scene  was  brought  to  view,  where  Donald  had  spent  so  many 
happy  days ;  but  no  spot  appeared  to  have  the  charm  for  him  as  did  the 
school-house  and  its  pleasant  surroundings.  The  diverging  paths, 
he  knew  them  all,  and  whereunto  they  led. 

He  could  seem  to  see  the  boys  and  girls  coming  across  the  fields 
and  over  the  hills,  just  as  they  did  years  and  years  ago,  when  he  so 
diffidently  undertook  to  be  their  teacher. 

How  times  were  altered,  and  how  changed  he  was  himself !  changed 
from  the  modest  unsophisticated  boy  to  the  experienced  traveled 
gentleman  ;  changed  to  Endura,  who  then  felt  no  restraint  or  fear,  but 
who  now  was  guarded  and  timid  ;  who  looked  upon  him  as  one  far 
above  her  in  intellect  and  experience — one  whom  she  could  almost 
fall  down  and  worship  for  what  he  had  been  to  her  in  the  past,  and 
was  to  her  then.  She  knew  that  she  loved  him,  and  she  remembered 
the  loving  words  he  had  once  spoken  to  her  when  she  bade  him  be 
silent.  She  felt  that  he  remembered  her  rebuke,  and  wondered  if  he 
would  not  tell  her  of  it. 

As  they  were  passing  those  well-remembered  scenes,  Donald  said  : 
"I  was  happy  here,  Endura;  and  you  were  with  me.  Were  you  not 
happy  then  ?  " 

It  was  on  Endura's  lips  to  say  to  him,  "Not  more  happy  than  I 
am  to-day  ";  but  she  checked  herself  and  let  her  looks,  which  were 
the  index  to  her  heart,  speak  for  her. 

Donald  continued  :  "How  vividly  this  scene  has  been  imprinted 
on  my  mind  !  How  often  I  have  wondered  whether  we  should  ever 
be  together  again  upon  this  spot !  I  am  now  enjoying  that  blessed 
privilege,  which,  to  me,  is  like  the  realization  of  heaven  itself.  How 
often  I  led  you  as  a  child  along  this  highway  and  through  these 
paths  !  Would  you  not  love  to  ramble  with  me  again,  as  in  the  days 


THREE    GENERATIONS.  251 

of  yore  ?  Would  you  not  love  to  be  the  same  little  girl  that  you  then 
were — dependent  upon  your  big,  boy  friend  and  protector  ?  " 

"No,  Donald;  I  could  not  possibly  be  happier  than  I  am  to-day, 
with  that  same  friend  and  benefactor." 

"You  loved  your  Donald  then— at  least  you  told  me  so." 

"And  you  believed  me?" 

"  Yes,  I  believed  you  ;  I  never  doubted  you.     Do  you  now  ?" 

"  You  have  not  said  you  loved  me."  0 

Endura  looked  down  and  nervously  fingered  the  hem  of  her  hand 
kerchief,  but  could  find  no  words.  Her  impulse  was  to  clasp  him 
around  the  neck  and  tell  him  all,  but  she  dared  not ;  the  place 
was  unpropitious  and  the  act  too  bold. 

They  drove  on  together,  now  and  then  meeting  this  or  that  neigh 
bor  who,  of  course,  did  not  recognize  the  strange-looking  and 
strangely-dressed  gentleman  with  the  favorite  school-teacher.  Endura 
accosted  them  pleasantly  and  asked  them  if  they  did  not  know  the 
gentleman ;  upon  their  answering  in  the  negative  she  would  say, 
"  This  is  Mr.  Kent,"  upon  which  the  rough  old  farmer  would  reach 
out  his  hand  to  grasp  Donald's  and  say,  "You  don't  say  that  this  is 
Donald  Kent  ?  I  thought  he  was  in  some  furrin  country,  so  I  heerd 
a  long  time  ago.  Waal,  I  swan,  I'm  real  glad  to  see  ye  ;  but  you  du 
look  a  kinder  Frenchified  and  no  mistake.  How  Ve  you  been,  and 
when  did  ye  git  back  ?  I  s'pose  your  father  and  mother  is  well ;  and. 
Dura,  how  is  your  mother?  My  old  woman  ses  she  is  gwine  to  see 
her  pretty  soon  ;  but  I  won't  stop  ye.  Call  and  see  us.  Good-day." 

And  so  they  drove  on,  meeting  another  and  another  with  each  of 
whom  something  like  the  same  conversation  would  occur. 

A  portion  of  the  way  was  through  a  long,  dark  wood,  where  the 
remains  of  the  horse  of  the  missing  peddler,  were  discovered  so 
many  years  before. 


252  ENDURA:  OR, 


CHAPTER  XXVII. 

THE  LONG  DRIVE. 

'Tis  a  goodly  scene 

Yon  river,  like  a  silvery  snake,  lays  out 
His  coil  i'  th'  sunshine  lovingly — it'breathes 
Of  freshness  in  this  lap  of  flowery  meadows. 

— Sir  A.  Hunts  Julian. 

EACH  new  scene  was  a  new  theme  which  was  not  exhausted  until 
another  came  in  view.  Here  was  a  long  stretch  of  sandy  road 
and  there  a  steep  hill.  At  last  the  old  house  came  in  sight,  where 
they  were  .told  old  Mr.  Kent  and  his  wife  lived.  The  house  was 
without  paint,  with  a  little  door  toward  one  end,  and  two  small  windows 
with  panes  scarcely  larger  than  a  sheet  of  note  paper;  the  sides  and 
roof  were  shingled  the  same,  and  the  great  stone  chimney  was  left  en 
tirely  out  in  the  cold,  it  being  built  close  up  to  one  end  of  the 
house,  forming  fully  one-third  of  the  entire  surface  of  that  side  of  the 
bjilding. 

There  was  a  rough  barn  or  shed  near  by,  with  a  single  roof  sloping 
to  the  north,  while  the  only  opening  was  on  the  southerly  side,  form 
ing  a  kind  of  shelter  or  break  wind  during  the  severe  winter.  The 
corn  house,  or  "crib,"  was  somewhat  nearer  the  house  than  the  barn. 
It  appeared  to  be  smaller  at  the  base  than  at  the  top  where  the 
plates  projected  considerably  beyond  the  side  so  as  to  be  sure  that 
the  corn  might  always  be  kept  dry. 

Around  the  crib  were  a  great  number  of  turkeys  and  geese  and 
chickens,  as  if  they  were  expecting  soon  to  be  treated  to  a  portion  of 
the  contents  of  the  storehouse.  As  Donald  drove  up  there  was  a 
great  commotion.  The  gobblers  set  up  such  a  gobbling  that  it 
seemed  they  would  never  stop.  Mrs.  Kent  hearing  a  great  distur- 


THREE    GENERATIONS.  253 

bance  among  the  poultry  went  to  the  window  where  she  caught  sight 
of  the  elegant  carriage  which  had  just  driven  up,  and  the  lady  and  gen 
tleman  getting  out.  She  thought  it  was  Endura  but  she  could  not 
make  out  the  gentleman.  Of  course  she  saw  that  they  were  coming 
in,  so  as  quick  as  thought  she  changed  her  cap  and  put  a  clean 
handkerchief  around  her  neck  and  went  directly  to  the  door,  getting 
there  almost  as  quick  as  her  visitors  who  had  scarcely  knocked^before 
the  door  was  opened.  Endura  being  nearest,  accosted  her  first,  say 
ing,  "  How  do  you  do,  Mrs.  Kent  ! " 

"Howde'do,  Dura.     I  thought  'twas  you  ;  walk  in,  and  your  friend 

Mr.  " 

Donald  clasped  'her  in  his  arms,  and  as  he  kissed  her  said  : 
"  Don't  mister  me,  mother.  So  you  don't  know  your  great  big  boy?" 
He  sat  down  and  took  her  on  his  lap,  while  tears  of  joy  coursed 
down  their  cheeks,  expressing  more  surely  than  words  the  happiness 

they  felt. 

Soon  Donald  asked  after  his  father.  His  mother  said  she  ex 
pected  him  every  minute,  as  it  was  getting  towards  dinner  time, 
and  he  had  some  chores  to  do  before  dinner.  Donald 
suggested  that  he  had  better  take  out  his  horses,  and  put 
them  in  the  stable,  and  Endura  volunteered  to  assist  Mrs.  Kent  with 
her  dinner.  "  No,  no,  child,  I  can  do  it  jest  as  well,  and  you 
must  be  tired  after  riding  so  far." 

Endura  assured  her  that  she  was  not  the  least  bit  tired,  and  in 
sisted  upon  going  into  the  kitchen  with  the  old  lady,  who  finally  said 
sh  e  might,  as  she  would  like  to  talk  with  her. 

Donald  had  taken  care  of  his  horses,  and  was  on  his  way  back  to 
the  house  when  his  father  came  up.  They  recognized  each  other  im 
mediately,  and  clasped  each  other  heartily  by  both  hands,  Donald 
saying  at  the  same  time,  "You  see  I  have  not  forgotten  how  to  make 
myself  at  home." 

"  And  why  not?"  said  the  old  man,  "as  long  as  I  have  a  place  to 
lay  my  head,  it  shall  be  the  home  of  my  children.  It  is  but  a  poor 
home,  but  perhaps,  as  good  as  I  deserve.  God  has  been  good  to 
me.  Though  I  am  not  rich,  I  have  much  to  be  thankful  for.  I  have 
good  children.  *  Not  one  of  them  has  given  me  any  sorrow  or  anxiety, 
except  you,  Donald,  and  I  have  only  been  anxious  for  fear  something 


254  ENDURA  :    OR, 

might  happen  you  when  you  were  on  the  sea  and  so  far  away  from  us. 
Your  mother  has  always  been  fearful  that  something  would  befall  you 
in  the  city.  She  thought  that  possibly  you  might  go  to  the  bad,  as 
did  your  old  friend  Bernard  Ivers.  I  told  her  that  you  had  too  much 
of  your  father's  Scotch  blood  to  go  that  way.  I  had  never  any  fears 
for  your  morals,  but  accidents  will  happen,  and  there  is  no  reason 
why  my  boy  should  be  exempt  more  than  any  one  else's.  By  this  time 
they  had  reached  the  house.  The  old  gentleman  upon  entering  met 
Endura  who  greeted  him  cordially.  He  hesitated  for  a  moment  and 
then  said:  "I  seem  to  be  surprised  every  way  I  turn,  but  I'm  real 
glad  to  see  you,  Dura.  How  did  it  happen  ?  Did  you  come  with 
Donald,  or  was  it  just  by  chance  you  met  him  here  ?  " 

Endura  said :  "  I  came  with  Donald,  or  I  might  never  have 
seen  you.  The  distance  is  too  long  to  walk,  and  you  know  we  can 
not  afford  to  ride  now-a-days,  but  I  have  thought  of  you^'  often,  Mr. 
Kent,  and  often  wished  that  I  might  see  you.  It  was  such  a  surprise 
when  Donald  came  yesterday,  and  so  kind  of  him  to  ask  me  to  come 
with  him  to-day." 

"  I  am  sure  it  was  very  sweet  of  you  to  come  on  so  long  a  ride 
after  our  late  hours  last  night,"  said  Donald. 

"How  far  do  you  call  it,  Mr.  Kent,"  said  Endura,  "from  here  to 
S ?" 

"It  is  about  eighteen  miles,"  said  the  old  gentleman.  "Just  a  pleasant 
ride  if  you  have  a  good  horse.  You  ought  to  drive  it  in  two  hours 
easily  with  two  horses,  such  as  you  came  with." 

"Yes,"  said  Donald,  "but  how  about  the  ride  back?" 

"  That  will  be  just  as  easy  to-morrow,"  said  Mr.  Kent. 

"  Ah  !  but  we  expect  to  return  to-day.     Is  it  not  so  Endura  ?  " 

"Yes,  I  suppose  so.     I  am  sure  mother  will  expect  us." 

Mrs.  Kent  said  she  could  not  let  them  go,  for  she  could  scarcely 
see  Donald  at  all. 

"I  do  feel  that  it  is  making  a  short  stay,  mother,  and  if  Endura 
will  consent  to  stay  it  would  please  me." 

"Do  you  suppose  mother  will  be  alarmed  if  we  do  not  return?3' 

"I  think  not,  but  if  you  have  fears  that  she  will,  we  had  better  go, 
and  I  will  come  again  very  soon,"  said  Donald. 

Endura  said  she  would  leave  it  all  with  him. 


THREE    GENERATIONS  255 

"  I  am  sure  mother  will  believe  me  safe  as  long  as  Donald  is  with 
me.  She  always  did  when  he  was  a  boy  and  took  me  to  school." 

It  was  arranged  that  they  should  stay  all  night,  but  Donald  said  he 
would  like  to  return  in  time  for  church  the  next  day.  It  had  been 
so  many  years  since  he  had  attended  church  at  the  old  meeting 
house,  that  he  thought  he  should  like  to  go  and  see  the  old  faces 
once  more. 

So  Mrs.  Kent  had  a  good  afternoon  and  evening  with  her  boy, 
during  which  time  the  fact  was  made  known  that  Mrs.  Ivers  had 
come  in  possession  of  an  immense  fortune. 

The  rascality  of  Joe  Tartar,  and  his  half  French  confederate,  was 
talked  about,  and  their  final  violent  but  natural  ending  after  the  life 
they  had  led.  It  was  also  made  known,  for  the  first  time,  to  Mr. 
Kent  and  his  wife  that  Joe  Tartar  gave  everything  to  Mrs.  Ivers  and 
Endura  at  the  time  of  his  death. 

It  took  some  time  for  the  old  people  to  realize  that  Donald  had 
been  the  one  to  bring  about  the  favorable  results  which  had  been 
attained.  When  they  had  every  assurance  that  it  was  even  so,  they 
almost  doubted  their  senses.  Before  they  retired  that  night, 
Donald  told  his  father  and  mother  that  they  had  done  work 
enough,  and  that  their  remaining  days  should  be  days  of 
comfort  and  rest.  He  told  them  that  they  might  select  the 
best  farm  in  the  State,  and  he  would  purchase  it  and  make  them 
a  present  of  it ;  and  he  proposed  to  give  another  to  each  of  his 
brothers  if  they  should  prefer  it  to  a  business  in  the  city,  which  he 
hoped  they  would,  as  he  was  not  quite  sure  that  it  would  be  best  for 
them  to  go  to  the  city  to  enter  business  in  competition  with  shrewd 
men  of  experience. 

One  of  his  sisters  was  married  to  a  good  mechanic,  which  Donald 
said  he  thought  he  could  keep  employed  as  long  as  he  lived,  at  such 
a  salary  as  would  make  him  independent.  His  youngest  sister,  he 
said,  should  share  his  home  until  she  found  some  one  who  would  be 
able  to  do  better  by  her,  or  one  with  whom  she  would  rather  live. 
When  that  time  came,  if  it  ever  did,  she  should  be  well  provided 
for. 

Of  course  all  this  seemed  like  a  dream  to  the  old  people.  It  was 
impossible  for  them  to  realize  that  their  son,  Donald,  was  a  million- 


256  ENDURA:  OP, 

aire,  and  could  do  all  that  he  said,  and  much  more.  They  looked 
at  each  other  and  then  at  Donald. 

Finally  the  good  old  mother  said,  "  God  is  good,  and,  my  dear  boy, 
he  has  prospered  you  beyond  Joseph,  whom  he  made  to  reign  in 
Egypt,  that  he  might  be  the  means  of  saving  his  father  and  his 
brethren.  Your  reward  is  great,  and  may  you  not  forget  your  Crea 
tor  and  the  bounties  he  has  bestowed  upon  you.  My  son,  who  in  all 
the  world  has  been  more  blest  than  you  ?  While  others  have  lost  their 
all  and  their  lives,  your  life  has  been  preserved,  and  you  have  been 
made  rich,  beloved  and  honored,  and  your  poor  old  mother  is  to-day 
more  than  happy.  I  can  almost  say  with  good  old  Simeon,  '  Mine 
eyes  have  seen  the  coming  of  the  glory  of  the  Lord.'  It  almost 
seems  that  we  have  a  savior  in  our  son.  May  God  bless  you  as  your 
mother  blesses  you,  and  keep  you  to  fulfill  the  great  destiny  for  which 
you  were  doubtless  created,  which  you  have  so  nobly  begun  !" 

When  Donald's  mother  was  through  speaking,  tears  moistened  the 
eyes  of  all  present.  Donald  arose  and  went  to  his  mother.  He  kissed 
her  on  her  forehead  and  said  : 

"  My  dear  mother,  how  could  I  help  being  what  I  am  ?  It  has  been 
no  effort  since  you  first  taught  me  to  do  right.  I  never  thought  I 
could  do  anything  that  was  not  right  and  honest.  So  you  see,  my 
good  mother  has  had  much  to  do  with  my  success,  and  my  prayer 
shall  be  that  you  may  live  long  to  watch  over  me.  I  always  believed 
what  you  told  me ;  and  if  you  told  me  it  was  wrong  to  do  a  thing  I 
felt  just  as  sure  it  was  wrong  as  I  could  have  been  after  I  had  proved 
it  to  be  so.  I  owe  much  to  both  my  father  and  my  mother.  The 
old  Scotch  blood  which  I  inherited  from  my  father  has  shown  itself 
upon  more  than  one  occasion.  My  strong  frame  and  iron  constitu 
tion  I  owe  to  both  of  you  and  the  hardships  of  my  early  life,  for 
which  hardships,  as  I  have  called  them,  I  am  now  thankful. 

"  In  short,  I  seem  to  have  been  fitted  for  the  work  I  was  destined 
to  be  called  upon  to  perform.  And  I  have  done  it  to  the  best  of  my 
abilities,  and  to  the  satisfaction  of  all  concerned." 

When  they  had  all  retired  but  Mrs.  Kent,  she  knelt  down  and 
prayed  fervently,  thanking  God  for  his  goodness  in  giving  her  such 
a  son,  and  she  seemed  to  feel  that  God  heard  and  answered  her  in  a 
still,  small  voice  which  seemed  to  whisper,  "Thou  art  worthy ! " 


THREE    GENERATIONS.  257 

With  Endura  it  seemed  good  she  stayed;  not  that  what  she 
had  heard  had  raised  Donald  in  her  estimation.  Indeed,  nothing 
could  have  made  her  think  more  of  him  than  she  thought 
before,  but  it  gave  her  an  insight  into  an  humble,  puritanical  family's 
ideas  of  right  and  wrong,  and  of  their  gratitude  for  blessings  received. 
Of  course  Donald  was  in  her  dreams.  Awake  she  thought  if  he  would 
only  say  as  much  to  her  again  as  he  said  so  long  ago,  how  she  would 
respond  and  bless  him  ! 

She  felt  that  he  remembered  what  she  said  on  that  occasion  and 
held  it  against  her.  How  she  wished  he  could  be  made  to  under 
stand  the  matter  as  she  did.  Had  she  not  just  plighted  her  troth 
to  another?  She  knew  she  loved  Donald  even  then,  for  which 
she  felt  guilty,  but  she  could  not  trifle  with  the  love  of  another. 
It  was  a  night  of  wakefulness  to  Endura,  and  when  the  morning 
came  she  looked  sad, — but  oh,  so  sweetly  sad! 

Donald  asked  her  if  she  was  ill.  She  said  she  did  not  sleep  quite 
as  well  as  she  could  have  wished.  Donald  replied  he  was  very 
sorry  she  had  remained  all  night,  thinking  perhaps  it  might  distress 
her  mother.  She  said  she  did  not  believe  her  mother  would  mind 
her  staying. 

Mrs.  Kent  was  up  betimes  as  was  the  old  gentleman  ;  the  father 
to  look  after  the  horses,  and  the  mother  to  prepare  breakfast  that 
the  young  folks  might  have  an  early  start.  Donald  knew  that  his 
horses  would  require  feeding  very  early  in  order  to  be  ready  to  leave 
immediately  after  breakfast ;  but  his  father  was  at  the  barn  before 
him,  and  the  animals  were  eating  their  cut  feed  with  plenty  of  Indian 
meal. 

"You  see,  Donald,  I  have  not  forgotten  how  to  get  up  in  the 
morning,"  said  Mr.  Kent. 

"Well,"  said  Donald,  "you  cannot  say  I  was  much  behind   you." 

Breakfast  was  soon  over,  and  our  hero  and  his  lovely  charge  were 

on  their  way  to  S ,  intending  to  stop  at  the  meeting-house  in  the 

village  on  their  way,  as  Donald  had  decided  the  night  before. 

As  they  drove  along,  both  were  too  happy  to  speak,  yet  neither 
knew  that  the  other  was  so.  Donald,  that  he  was  once  more  alone 
with  his  soul's  idol,  and  Endura,  sadly  happy  to  be  with  one  she 
loved  so  dearly,  though  she  fully  believed  that  Donald  did  not  return 


258  ENDURA  :     OR, 

that  love,  at  least,  not  the  same  kind  of  love  which  she  gave — he  might 
love  her  as  a  brother — he  had  promised  her  to  do  that  years  before, 
but  she  longed  for  something  more.  Not  the  love  of  a  brother,  not 
even  the  love  of  the  angels  could  satisfy  her. 

Donald  felt  that  to  tell  her  how  much  he  loved  her  and  to  ask  her 
to  be  his,  would  appear  mean  and  mercenary.  Perhaps  she  would 
say  to  herself,  "  My  fortune  attracts  him."  Perhaps  she  would  tell 
him  as  she  had  once  done  before  when  he  asked  her  to  be  his — 
"Never." 

Well,  at  least,  he  would  not  give  her  that  opportunity  again ;  he  would 
do  as  he  had  promised  her  so  long  ago.  He  would  be  her  brother, 
and  there  his  cogitations  ended. 

How  often  would  the  whole  current  of  one's  life  be  changed  if  we 
could  know  each  other's  thoughts  !  But  would  there  be  more  happi 
ness?  Perhaps  there  might  be  ;  but  it  would  be  greatly  neutralized 
by  the  disagreeable  things  we  would  know. 

There  are  a  class  of  sympathetic 'thinkers,  and  they  number  millions, 
whose  doctrine  was  unknown  forty  years  ago.  They  claim  to  com 
mune  with  unseen  spirits,  and  hold  pleasant  conversation  with  de 
parted  friends.  They  are  happy  in  their  belief,  which  is  rapidly 
spreading.  Not  only  do  they  converse  with  them  through  a 
medium — which  would  not  be  quite  satisfactory  to  us,  but  they  sit 
with  them  for  their  pictures  taken  by  Spirit  artists,  which,  we  confess, 
strains  our  credulity  somewhat  to  believe  that  a  soulless  instrument 
can  discover  things  which  do  not  exist,  and  produce  a  shadow  where 
there  is  no  substance. 

Still  such  things  are,  and  there  are  sound,  able  men  and  women 
whom  we  believe  to  be  honest  and  upright,  who  are  strong  in  the  faith, 
and  we  have  no  disposition  to  try  to  discourage  them.  If  they  are 
happy  in  the  belief  let  them  enjoy  it.  There  has  never  been  a  belief 
that  has  spread  more  rapidly,  and  there  can  be  little  doubt  but 
that  it  is  destined  to  be  the  nucleus  of  a  new  religion,  which  at  no 
distant  day  will  become  vastly  popular  in  the  sympathetic,  thinking 
world. 

It  would  have  been  of  small  moment  for  either  Endura  or  Donald 
to  have  been  Spiritualists.  The  spirits  which  they  would  have  mater- 


THREE    GENERATIONS.  259 

ialized  were  too  palpable.  Perhaps  if  they  had  been  invisible  to  each 
other,  they  could  better  have  solved  the  problem. 

They  reached  the  village  in  time  for  church.  They  drove  directly 
to  the  meeting-house  which  was  just  at  the  edge  of  the  village.  Don 
ald  assisted  Endura  to  alight  upon  the  steps  of  the  meet 
ing-house,  where  she  remained  until  he  had  hitched  and  covered 
his  horses ;  for  he  was  never  known  to  neglect  them.  He  then 
returned  and  entered  the  building  with  Endura. 

The  pews  in  those  old  village  churches  are  nearly  all  free.  The 
stranger  as  well  as  the  citizen  walks  in  and  seats  himself.  Endura, 
being  more  at  home  than  Donald,  led  the  way  to  a  pew,  and  they 
placed  themselves  together. 

There  was  quite  a  stir  in  the  church  when  they  came  in,  and  not  a 
few  heads  were  turned  to  see  who  the  handsome  gentleman  was 
with  Endura.  The  sermon  was  after  the  same  order  of  those 
preached  there  from  time  immemorial.  A  text  was  read,  and  two  or 
three  allusions  made  to  it  during  the  discourse. 

The  remainder  of  the  sermon  was  little  more  than  an  exhoitation, 
in  which  the  minister  took  occasion  to  allude  to  "the  stranger  within 
their  gates,"  hoping  that  he  might  be  benefited  by  the  downdroppings 
from  the  sanctuary. 

It  was  whispered  around  that  the  gentleman  was  none  other  than 
Donald  Kent,  who  formerly  lived  with  General  Ivers. 

They  had  lost  run  of  him  for  some  time.  True,  they  had  heard 
that  he  had  gone  off  somewhere,  and  they  supposed  that  would  be 
the  last  of  him. 

As  Donald  went  out  of  the  church  he  was  accosted  by  one  or  two 
who  knew  him  as  a  boy.  The  number  soon  increased,  so  that  soon 
he  was  quite  surrounded  by  his  old-time  friends  and  acquaintances, 
which  was  very  pleasant. 

At  last  Donald  succeeded  in  bringing  his  carriage  to  the  door 
where  Endura  was  awaiting  him.  He  assisted  her  to  get  in,  and  they 
drove  off,  neither  of  them  sorry  to  be  free  again.  They  drove  direct 
ly  to  Mrs.  Ivers',  where  quite  a  number  had  already  called  to  see 
Donald. 

Mrs.  Ivers  was  expecting  them,  but  said  she  should  not  have 
been  worried  if  they  had  not  returned  for  three  days.  Upon  the 


260  ENDURA:  OR, 

whole  she  was  glad  they  stayed  one  night  with  the  old  people, 
and  would  have  thought  it  strange  if  they  had  not. 

She  had  prepared  a  good,  old-fashioned  Yankee  dinner,  with  pump 
kin  pies  and  apple  pudding  for  dessert,  and  both  Donald  and  En- 
dura  were  ready  to  do  it  justice,  having  eaten  nothing  since 
early  that  morning,  it  being  then  about  four  o'clock. 

After  dinner  Donald  proposed  to  take  a  ramble  to  which  Endura 
readily  assented.  Donald  suggested  that  they  visit  the  graveyard 
where  two  new  graves  had  been  made  since  he  was  there  before. 
Upon  approaching  the  spot  he  noticed  that  no  new  stones  had  been 
erected  since  his  last  visit,  but  he  was  too  considerate  to  speak  of  it, 
simply  remarking  that  it  looked  familiar. 

Endura  said  her  father  had  intended  to  have  a  monument  for 
Bernard,  but  he  had  been  so  embarrassed  that  he  was  not  able  to  pay 
for  it,  so  it  had  never  been  done.  She  said  her  mother  had 
saved  about  half  as  much  as  would  be  required  to  erect  one 
that  would  answer  for  the  family,  and  she  hoped  soon  to  have  it. 
Donald  made  no  comments,  and  they  passed  on.  They  went 
as  far  as  the  house  in  which  the  widow  Tartar  formally  lived. 
The  house  was  vacant,  and  looked  very  lonely,  remembering,  as  they 
both  did,  the  sad  ending  of  the  poor,  old  lady,  and  the  final  exit  of 
her  ungrateful  son. 

On  their  way  back  they  were  walking  side  by  side  when  they 
neared  the  great  rock  upon  which  they  sat  more  than  three  years  be 
fore.  Donald  said:  "Do  you  remember  that  rock,  Endura?" 

She  answered  that  she  could  not  forget  it ;  that  she  had  visited  it 
often  alone,  and  sat  upon  it  for  hours  thinking  of  the  past,  "And,  Don 
ald,  you  have  ever  been  with  me  when  I  have  visited  this  spot.  We 
have  sat  together  as  we  did  years  ago,  and  I  have  almost  felt  you  as  I 
did  then.  I  am  no  Spiritualist,  but  it  must  have  been  something 
nearly  approaching  it  to  have  brought  you  so  vividly  before  me,  while 
upon  this  rock  I  have  rested  and  ruminated. " 

"  It  must  have  been  a  kind  of  spiritual  intercourse,  for  I  have 
been  with  you  here  so  often,"  said  Donald. 

In  the  meanwhile  they  had  seated  themselves  upon  about  the  same 
spot  where  they  had  been  seated  when  Donald  said  he  was  almost 


THREE    GENERATIONS.  261 

happy.  Donald  took  Endura's  hand  in  his,  just  as  he  had  done 
upon  that  well-remembered  day. 

"  How  long  it  is,  Endura,  since  we  sat  thus  before,  when  I  held 
your  hand  as  I  do  now  !  I  said  I  had  something  to  say  to  you.  I 
remember  that  I  said,  <  Will  you  hear  it  now  ? '  and  you  bade  me 
speak.  I  then  told  you  how  much  I  loved  you,  when  you  rebuked 
me  and  forbade  my  saying  more.  I  did  not  blame  you,  I  could 
not  blame  you.  But,  Endura,  you  did  something  more,  for  which  I 
blessed  you.  Have  you  forgotten  what  it  was  ?  " 

Endura  put  her  arm  around  his  neck  and  kissed  him  upon  his 
brow  as  she  had  done  in  that  far-off  time.  Donald  leaned  his  head 
upon  her  bosom  and  was  silent.  At  last  he  remembered  what  he 
had  said  when  he  aroused  from  that  sweet  oblivion.  Was  it  a 
dream  ?  Looking  up,  he  said  : 

"That  was,  indeed,  a  delicious  dream;  but  this  is  a  blissful  real 
ity.  I  have  felt  your  soft  lips  again  upon  my  forehead.  Was  it  a 
sister's  kiss  ?  Am  I  still  your  brother  ?  " 

It  was  now  Endura's  turn  to  express  what  she  so  long  had  felt. 
She  clasped  his  hand  and  kissed  it,  and  said  :  "  O  Donald,  Donald  ! 
what  are  you  not  to  me  ! — brother,  friend,  benefactor — I  almost 
said  god.  I  cannot  be  sacrilegious,  but  have  I  not  worshiped  you 
as  few  men  are  worshiped  ?  Tell  me,  Donald,  can  a  woman  love 
too  fondly  ?  Is  it  wicked  to  love  with  one's  whole  soul  ?  " 

Donald  clasped  her  in  his  arms  and  rained  kisses  upon  her  cheeks 
and  lips  ;  then,  lifting  her  from  the  rock  and  putting  his  arm  around 
her,  they  walked  on  together.  Too  happy  for  earth,  they  deemed 
themselves  in  heaven. 

When  they  reached  the  house,  their  joy  was  too  great  to  be  hid 
den.  Donald  told  Mrs.  Ivers  of  his  great  love  for  her  daughter,  and 
he  said  :  "I  am  sure  Endura  loves  me." 

The  good  woman  said  :  "  You  cannot  be  more  sure  of  it  than  I 
have  been  for  years.  But  I  am  not  sure  that  you  know  even  now 
how  much  she  loves  you.  How  much  we  all  loved  you  !  My  dear 
husband  thought  there  was  never  a  young  man  like  you;  so  he  was 
always  telling  Endura.  And  I  felt  toward  you  as  a  mother  feels 
toward  her  son ;  for  you  have  always  been  like  a  son  to  me.  We  have 
always  been  so  proud  of  our  Donald." 


262  ENDURA  :    OR, 

"And  I  will  be  your  son ;  and  if  Endura  consents,  our  plighted 
vows  shall  be  consummated  here.  She  already  has  all  I  can  give,  but 
my  hand,  and  that  only  awaits  her  acceptance.  All  is  a  poor  offer 
ing  for  such  a  treasure,  but  what  more  can  I  give?  " 

"Do  not  mock  me,  Donald.  What  am  I,  to  deserve  such  love, 
such  goodness  ?  It  appears  to  me  that  I  am  too  happy.  Can  it 
last  ?  Will  not  the  nectar  turn  to  gall  ?  "  Reaching  out  her  hand  to 
Donald,  she  said :  "  Stay  with  me ;  I  cannot  have  you  go,  I  may 
never  see  you  again,  and  that  would  kill  me." 

Donald  embraced  her  and  kissed  her,  and  assured  her  that  he 
would  not  leave  her.  Then,  kissing  her  mother,  he  said  : 

"I  have  just  now  concluded  that  it  will  be  well  for  both  of  you  to 
go  to  Boston  with  me,  for  you  can  board  for  a  time,  and  in  the 
spring  we  can  go  to  Europe  together,  a  trip  it  will  be  necessary 
for  me  to  make,  and  it  will  be  such  a  pleasure  to  have  you  go  with 
me." 

Mrs.  Ivers  could  not  express  her  great  joy.  Words  were  but  fee 
ble  echoes  of  her  beating  heart.  At  last  she  said  : 

"  I  am  too  much  blest.  I  fear  I  have  more  thrust  upon  me  than 
I  deserve.  I  have  had  so  many  trials  and  heartaches  of  late  that  I 
almost  despaired  of  any  more  happiness  this  side  the  grave,  except 
that  which  I  have  enjoyed  in  the  society  of  my  darling  girl;  but  the 
Lord  has  blessed  me  above  my  deserts,  and,  at  a  time  when  all 
looked  gloomy,  with  no  light  ahead ;  He  has  flooded  my  pathway 
with  transcendent  joy,  and  my  dear  son,  for  so  I  would  like  to  call 
you,  you  have  been  the  instrument  in  the  hands  of  the  Almighty, 
whic  *  has  secured  these  great  blessings.  We  have  much  to  thank 
you  for.  More  than  words  can  express.  All  that  we  can  bestow 
upon  you  will  but  poorly  recompense  you  for  what  you  have  done  for 
us.  But  we  must  not  forget  our  Heavenly  Father,  who  has  tempered 
the  wind  to  the  shorn  lamb,  who  has  not  made  our  burdens  greater 
than  we  could  bear  ;  to  Him  is  due  everlasting  praise  and  thanksgiving." 

Donald  thanked  her  for  her  good  opinion  of  him,  and  at  the  same 
time  he  told  her  that  her  uniform  kindness  and  consideration  for 
him,  when  he  first  came  there  as  a  boy,  had  had  much  to  do  with 
the  success  which  he  had  met  with  in  life.  He  could  not  have  done 
a  mean  thing  in  her  presence,  and  when  he  was  away  from  her  the 


THREE    GENERATIONS.  263 

recollection  of  her  many  kindnesses  would  have  rebuked  him  if  he 
had  attempted  anything  wrong. 

"  My  own  mother,  ever  good  and  considerate,  lacked  that  fascina 
tion  which  you  had  for  me.  I  was  never  allowed  to  feel  that  I  was 
dependent  during  all  the  time  I  was  in  the  family,  and  when  I  went 
away  and  returned,  nothing  was  too  good  for  me.  How  could  I 
hope  to  repay  such  disinterested  friendship ;  but  there  was  a  way 
marked  out  by  an  All-wise  Creator,  by  which  I  was  allowed  to  re 
turn  a  portion  of  your  many  kindnesses.  I  did  not  seek  the  knowl 
edge  which  was  destined  to  change  the  current  of  our  lives.  It  was 
thrust  upon  me,  and  I  profited  by  the  hints  which  another  might 
have  done  as  well ;  '  And  that  should  teach  us  there's  a  divinity  that 
shapes  our  ends,  rough  hew  them  how  we  will.'" 

It  was  the  evening  of  the  Sabbath,  the  day  following  would  bring 
its  cares. 


264  ENDURA :     OR, 


CHAPTER  XXVIII. 

I  AM  YOURS,  HEART  AND  SOUL. 

When  gratitude  o'erflows  the  swelling  heart 
And  breathes  in  free  and  uncorrupted  praise 
For  benefits  receiv'd:     Propitious  heaven 
Take  such  acknowledgements  as  fragrant  incense, 
And  doubles  all  its  blessings. 

—  Lille? s  "  Elmerick." 

IT  would  be  necessary  for  Endura to  go  to  the  school-house  as  usual. 
She  was  under  an  engagement,  and  nothing  could  induce  her 
to  break  faith  with  those  who  had  been  so  kind  to  her  in  her  ad 
versity,  or  to  shrink  from  duty  or  responsibility.  She  would  fulfill 
her  obligations.  It  would  be  but  a  short  time  before  the  term  would 
end  and  she  would  be  free. 

With  what  different  feelings  she  entered  the  school-room,  the  next 
morning  !  Donald  walked  over  with  her,  and  then  took  occasion  to 
ramble  about,  visiting  one  or  two  of  the  neighbors  before  returning  to 
the  house,  which  he  reached  in  time  for  dinner,  which  was  always  on 
the  table  promptly  at  twelve  o'clock.  After  dinner  he  hitched  up  his 
horses,  and  taking  Mrs.  Ivers,  he  drove  around  the  country.  She 
expressed  a  wish  to  visit  her  old  home,  where  her  father  lived;  where 
she  first  met  her  husband.  As  little  incidents  came  to  mind,  pleas 
ant  or  otherwise,  tears  flowed  so  freely  that  her  handkerchief  was  in 
constant  use,  absorbing  the  grateful  drops. 

When  they  returned,  Endura  was  there  waiting  for  them.  Tea  was 
ready  to  put  on  the  table,  and  they  were  all  in  humor  to  enjoy  it. 
As  the  drive  had  given  Mrs.  Ivers  and  Donald  appetites,  and  as  En- 
dura  had  waited  some  time  since  getting  the  tea  ready,  she  enjoyed  it 
quite  as  much  as  they. 

Donald  remained  two  days  longer,  and  not  an  hour  but  he  was  as 
happy  as  it  is  possible  for  a  man  to  be. 

The  night  before  he  was  to  return  to  Boston,  he  was  alone  with 
Endura  in  the  parlor.  They  were  sitting  upon  the  sofa.  Donald  put 


THREE    GENERATIONS.  265 

his  arm  around  her  and  drew  her  gently  toward  him,  while  she  in 
clined  her  head  upon  his  breast,  but  said  nothing. 

Donald  said:  "Has  it  then  come  to  this?  The  great  boy  that 
your  father  gave  bread  and  schooling  to,  as  a  compensation  for  ser 
vices;  the  one  he  so  kindly  treated  as  a  boy,  and  after  as  a  guest; 
the  one  who  took  care  of  his  little  daughter,  and  toted  her  to  school 
so  many  times;  the  one  whom  she  said  should  be  her  brother — 
What  is  he  to-day  ?  Remember,  Endura,  you  have  not  yet  said  you 
would  be  my  wife." 

"  And  you  have  not  yet  asked  me,  Donald.  Think  you  I  could  re 
fuse  you  anything,  and  above  all,  refuse  to  be  made  happy  myself  ? 
Have  I  not  said  you  were  all  in  all  to  me  ?  What  more  can  I  say  ?  " 

"  Say  !  say  you  will  be  mine  forever,  and  never  tire  of  loving  me» 
and  I  will  bless  you." 

UI  am  yours,  heart  and  soul;  I  will  promise  to  be  your  wife,  and 
love  you  forever,  as  I  do  now;  and,  if  my  poor  heart  is  capable,  I 
will  learn  to  love  you  better  still,  even  as  your  merits  deserve." 

Donald  raised  her  lips  to  his  and  fervently  kissed  them.  Then 
holding  her  from  him  while  he  looked  into  her  tear-filled  eyes,  he 
reverently  said,  "  God  bless  you,  my  darling,  and  may  I  never  bring 
you  a  sorrow  ! " 

The  day  following  Donald  took  his  leave.  He  returned  to  Boston, 
and  entered  in  earnest  upon  his  profession.  There  were  some  im 
portant  suits  then  pending  which  his  partners  were  determined  he 
should  manage.  Among  the  rest  was  a  man  to  be  tried  for  murder. 
The  case  excited  a  great  deal  of  interest  at  the  time.  It  will  be  re 
membered  as  the  case  where  a  man  murdered  his  mistress  through 
jealousy. 

The  case  finally  came  to  trial  after  several  postponements.  The 
public  interest  in  it  had  somewhat  abated,  but  so  bitter  had  been  the 
feeling  against  the  prisoner  that  it  was  found  difficult  to  secure  twelve 
men  who  were  competent  to  serve  as  a  jury.  At  last  the  panel  was 
completed  and  the  trial  began.  The  proofs  were  so  strong  that  it 
would  have  been  absurd  to  have  attempted  a  denial.  What  was  to 
be  done  then  ? 

The  attorneys  had  been  retained  to  defend  the  prisoner,  and  it  was 
their  duty  to  do  their  best  for  him.  The  District  Attorney  opened  the 


266  ENDURA:  OR, 

case,  stating  the  fact  as  he  understood  them.  He  said  a  foul  murder 
had  been  committed,  and  that  the  prisoner  was  the  perpetrator  of 
the  bloody  deed  there  could  be  no  doubt.  He  said  he  did  not  know 
what  the  defense  would  claim,  but  it  appeared  to  him  that  if  ever 
there  was  a  case  with  but  one  side  to  it,  this  was  the  one. 

When  Donald  opened  for  the  prisoner,  he  said  that  the  District 
Attorney  seemed  to  have  tried  the  man  before  he  entered  the  court 
room,  which  was  about  equal  to  the  judge  who  condemned  a  man  to 
be  hung  and  tried  him  afterwards. 

"  The  honorable  gentleman  has  told  you  he  did  not  know  what  our 
line  of  defense  would  be.  We  could  have  informed  him  had  he  ap 
plied  to  us.  He  doubtless  expects  us  to  say  that  the  prisoner  was 
not  there,  or  being  there,  we  may  be  expected  to  attempt  to  prove  that 
our  client  sat  by  while  some  ruffian  came  in  and  murdered  his  friend; 
or  that,  perhaps,  we  might  attempt  to  show  that  the  prisoner  shot  the 
woman  in  self  defense,  something  as  the  wolf  we  read  of  in  the  fable — 
defending  himself  against  the  lamb  that  attempted  to  bite  him.  We 
do  not  propose  to  offer  any  such  defense.  That  there  has  been  a 
murder  committed  will  admit  of  no  doubt.  And  there  could 
scarcely  be  a  doubt  but  that  the  prisoner  at  the  bar  had  perpetrated 
the  bloody  deed.  The  question  that  would  naturally  arise,  then, 
would  be  the  cause  which  led  to  the  fearful  tragedy. 

"  We  all  remember  the  '  Moor  of  Venice  '  when  he  entered  the  bed 
chamber  of  the  woman  he  loved  better  than  his  own  life.  There  she 
lay  upon  her  couch  sleeping  so  sweetly,  dreaming,  it  might  have  been, 
of  the  dusky  Moor.  He  takes  off  his  sword  and  almost  relents.  But 
he  remembers  the  great  wrong  which  she  has  done  him.  Fancied  or 
real,  it  mattered  not  to  one  frenzied  with  jealousy  as  was  Othello.  His 
breast  was  aflame : 

'It  is  the  cause,  it  is  the  cause,  my  soul, 
Let  me  not  name  it  to  you,  you  chaste  stars, 
It  is  the  cause — ' 

"  The  cause  seemed  to  burn  into  his  very  soul  !  Think  you  not 
that  the  Moor  was  full  of  horror  at  the  cruel  action  which  he  was 
about  to  perpetrate  ?  But  to  him  the  cause  justified  it.  That  was  the 
greatness  of  the  provocation.  When  the  deed  was  done  how  he 


THREE    GENERATIONS  267 

groaned  as  he  hung  over  her,  kissing  her  unresponding  lips,  crying 
out  in  his  agony: 

'  O  Desdemona  !  Desdemona !  Dead  ? '  and  when  he  says  to 
Lodovico  : 

'  When  you  shall  these  unlucky  deeds  relate, 
Speak  of  me  as  I  am  ;  nothing  extenuate, 
Nor  set  down  aught  in  malice  ; 
Then  must  you  speak  of  one  who  loved  not  wisely,  but  too  well.' 

"  We  expect  to  prove  that  our  client  had,  as  he  believed,  a  just 
cause  for  committing  the  murderous  act.  Not  that  murder  can  be 
justified  upon  any  ground  or  pretext,  but  deranged  minds  cannot  look 
upon  that  which  has  unsettled  them  with  coolness  and  philosophy. 

"  We  expect  to  show  that  upon  several  occasions  the  prisoner  has 
been  entirely  irresponsible  for  his  acts  ;  that  once,  in  particular,  he 
fired  a  shot  which  happened  to  miss  the  person  for  whom  it  was  in 
tended.  When  he  came  to  himself  the  realization  of  what  he  had 
attempted  filled  him  with  horror  and  blanched  his  cheeks.  Think 
you  that  the  prisoner  was  in  his  right  mind  when  he  committed  the 
bloody  deed  ?  If  you  do,  he  is  convicted  already.  If  you  do  not, 
he  must  be  acquitted ;  for  you  would  not  send  to  the  gallows  a  man 
insane  and  irresponsible. 

"We  sincerely  hope  you  will  listen  to  the  testimony  pro  and  con, 
dispassionately,  and  we  feel  sure  that  you  will  say  by  your  verdict, 
'  Send  this  man  to  the  asylum,  and  not  to  the  scaffold. ' " 

The  trial  lasted  a  number  of  days,  and  certain  facts  came  out  that 
gave  a  coloring  of  truth  to  what  Donald  had  said  in  his  opening. 
In  fact,  it  was  proven  that  the  prisoner  was  subject  to  fits  of  despon 
dency  and  desperation.  At  such  times  he  had  made  threats  against 
the  life  of  some  of  his  best  friends.  It  was  proved  that  he  had 
strong  passions,  whether  of  love  or  hate  ;  that  he  was  generous  and 
self-sacrificing,  but  hot  tempered  and  jealous,  and  when  in  his  mel 
ancholy  moods  he  was  considered  dangerous. 

When  the  testimony  was  all  in,  and  it  became  Donald's  duty  to 
sum  up,  he  made  one  of  the  most  eloquent  and  convincing  arguments 
ever  listened  to  in  the  old  court-house.  He  met  every  argument  of 
counsel  upon  the  other  side.  Logic  with  logic,  satire  with  satire, 
and  reason  with  reason  ;  and  when  it  came  to  closing,  every  breath 


268  ENDURA  :    OR, 

seemed  bated   or  hushed,  as  he  repeated  Portia's  words  to  Shylock  : 

"  The  quality  of  mercy  is  not  strained  ; 
It  droppeth  as  the  gentle  rain  from  heaven 
Upon  the  place  beneath  ;  it  is  twice  blessed  ; 
It  blesseth  him  that  gives,  and  him  that  takes  ; 
'Tis  mightiest  in  the  mightiest  ;  it  becomes 
The  throned  monarch  better  than  his  crown  ; 
It  is  the  attribute  to  God  himself ; 
And  earthly  power  doth  then  show  likest  God's, 
When  mercy  seasons  justice." 

The  Judge  gave  his  charge  not  unfavorable  to  the  prisoner,  im 
pressing  upon  their  minds  that  he  was  entitled  to  any  doubts  which 
might  arise.  Suffice  it  to  say  the  jury  did  give  him  the  benefit  of  a 
doubt  which  was  that  he  was  not  in  his  right  mind  at  the  time  the 
deed  was  committed  ;  and  so  he  was  acquitted.  But,  at  the  same  time, 
they  suggested  that  he  be  restrained  of  his  liberty  for  fear  that,  in 
the  heat  of  passion,  he  might  commit  another  act  like  the  one  for 
which  he  had  been  tried  for  his  life. 

The  Judge  took  the  matter  under  advisement,  and,  in  the  end, 
Donald's  client  was  sent  to  an  asylum  where  he  grew  worse,  and 
died  in  less  than  a  year. 

Four  weeks  had  passed  since  Donald  returned  to  Boston,  during 
most  of  which  time  he  had  been  engaged  in  the  great  trial  which 
crowned  him  with  so  much  glory  for  the  able  manner  in  which  he 
had  conducted  the  case.  He  had  found  time,  however,  to  promptly 
answer  all  of  the  loving  letters  which  he  had  received  from  Endura, 
who  in  the  meanwhile  had  closed  her  school,  and  was  getting  ready 
to  go  with  her  mother  to  Boston  where  arrangements  had  been  per 
fected  for  their  comfort  during  the  winter.  It  was  understood  that 
the  marriage  of  Donald  and  Endura  was  to  take  place  at  an  early 
day,  for  which  extensive  preparations  were  to  be  immediately  made. 
By  this  time  it  became  generally  known  that  the  famous  young  law 
yer,  Donald  Kent,  was  to  lead  to  the  altar  the  beautiful  daughter  of 
the  late  General  Ivers,  the  heiress,  to  a  princely  estate  in  the  south  of 
France,  whither  the  young  couple  were  to  go  upon  their  wedding 
tour,  accompanied  by  Mrs.  Ivers,  the  mother  of  the  bride,  now  the 
marchioness  of  Vieux. 

The  announcement  created  quite  a  stir  in  social  circles    and  the 


THREE    GENERATIONS.  269 

guests  at  the  hotel  were  on  the  qui  vive  to  see  the  bride  elect,  the 
heiress  to  such  fabulous  wealth,  when  she  should  arrive. 

The  day  came  at  length,  when  the  mother  and  daughter  made 
their  appearance,  escorted  by  the  handsome  Mr.  Kent. 

Great  preparations  had  been  made  for  their  accommadation ; 
nothing  less  than  the  best  the  hotel  afforded.  Their  rooms  were 
elegantly  fitted  up,  expressly  for  them,  and  rare  exotics  filled  the 
magnificent  vases  which  adorned  the  superb  pedestals  that  supported 
them.  The  suite  of  rooms  were  so  arranged  that  they  connected 
one  with  another;  both  of  the  bedrooms  opening  into  the  parlor, 
which  was  the  common  room. 

All  of  the  rooms  were  plainly  but  richly  furnished  ;  but  upon  the 
parlor  the  upholsterer  had  exhausted  his  skill. 

The  furniture  was  elegant,  of  the  very  latest  patterns,  upholstered  in 
exquisite  style.  The  lambrequins  and  draperies  were  gems  of  art, 
and  the  lace  curtains  were  eleborate  and  tastefully  draped.  The 
pictures  were  the  finest  steel  engravings  selected  for  their  appropri 
ateness  for  the  place  and  occasion. 

Everything  was  done  that  could  be  done  for  the  comfort  and 
happiness  of  Mrs.  Ivers  and  her  daughter.  Occasionally  she  would 
be  called  "marchioness,"  but  she  told  them  she  preferred  to  be 
called  Mrs.  Ivers. 

Endura  was  the  great  attraction  of  the  hotel,  and  Donald  Kent 
was  often  complimented  and  congratulated  for  having  won  the  heart 
of  the  peerless  beauty. 

Thus  the  winter  passed.  Donald  Kent  winning  golden  opinions 
in  his  profession  by  his  eloquence  and  masterly  skill  in  managing  the 
important  cases  which  were  intrusted  to  the  firm,  while  Mrs  Ivers 
and  Endura  were  winning  the  friendship  of  all  who  were  introduced 
to  them,  by  their  gentleness  and  refinement.  Donald  was  in  corre 
spondence  with  his  agents  in  France.  He  wrote  them  that  he  should 
visit  the  chateau  during  the  following  spring  and  summer  with  the 
marchioness  and  her  daughter,  who,  he  wrote,  would  be  before  then 
his  wife.  « 

He  gave  directions  about  repairing  and  restoring  certain  portions  of 
the  chateau,  especially  the  bed-chamber  of  the  marchioness  as  well 
as  two  or  three  of  the  guest-chambers  and  the  dining-room  ;  also 


270  ENDURA  :    OR, 

for  the  painting  and  refurnishing  of  some  other  rooms  besides  the  grand 
hall,  which  was  to  be  restored  to  its  pristine  beauty,  so  that  the 
marchioness  might  feel  at  home,  upon  her  first  entering,  and  that  En- 
dura  might  fully  realize  the  elegance  by  which  her  mother  was  sur 
rounded  when  she  was  a  child. 

The  day  of  the  marriage  was  announced.  The  ceremony  was  to 
be  performed  by  an  Episcopal  clergyman,  according  to  the  rites  of 
his  church.  And  although  both  Endura  and  Donald  would  have  pre 
ferred  to  have  been  married  in  their  own  quiet  home,  it  was  thought 
advisable  to  be  married  in  church,  which  was  beautifully  decorated 
for  the  occasion. 

There  were  upwards  of  one  hundred  invitations  issued,  nearly  all 
of  which  honored  them  with  their  presence.  And  all  declared  that  a 
more  elegant  couple  never  entered  the  church. 

The  bride  was  lovely  beyond  compare,  in  her  beautiful  robes  of 
white  satin,  with  her  gauzy  vail  and  wreath  of  orange  blossoms  resting 
upon  her  golden  hair.  Fit  emblems — beauty  and  innocence  crowned 
with  garlands  of  fragrant  flowers. 

The  bride  did  not  require  elegant  dresses  to  make  her  beautiful.  But 
tasteful  dressing  is  a  powerful  adjunct  to  a  woman's  beauty,  while  too 
much  dressing  detracts  in  the  same  proportion.  Endura  chose  that 
happy  medium,  so  that  each  flower  set  off  a  counter  charm,  yet  so 
blending,  that  critics  were  at  loss  to  know  which  was  the  more  beauti 
ful,  or  if  the  picture  would  not  have  been  ruined  if  a  single  shade 
had  been  omitted. 

It  was  a  proud  day  for  Donald  Kent,  when  he  led  to  the  altar  En- 
dura  Ivers,  and  first  called  her  wife,  a  consummation  he  could  not 
have  hoped  for  three  years  before.  And  yet  he  loved  her  then,  as  few 
are  loved;  all  the  while  distrustful  of  himself,  and  feeling  that  she  was 
so  far  above  him  socially,  that  it  would  be  useless  for  him  to  attempt  to 
reach  the  plain,  upon  which  she  stood.  He  had  worshiped  her  from 
afar,  without  the  least  expectation  of  ever  coming  nearer  to  her.  As  we 
look  upon  a  beautiful  star  so  far  above  us,  so  Donald  Kent  looked 
up  to  Endura,  and  loved  the  more  he  looked,  And  who  shall  say 
that  love,  that  adoration  had  not  something  to  do  with  Donald's  rapid 
rise  in  the  world.  He  was  a  remarkable  lad  of  the  sternest  integrity 
As  a  boy,  he  was  not  considered  brilliant,  rather  the  reverse. 


THREE    GENERATIONS  271 

While  Benard  Ivers  was  remarkable  for  his  keen  perception  and  ready 
application,  and  could  scarcely  be  taught  any  more  in  the  district 
school,  Donald  could  hardly  read  a  sentence  correctly. 

When  Donald  Kent  first  took  Endura  to  school,  she  could  read 
better  than  himself.  The  scholars,  at  first,  were  disposed  to  make  a 
butt  of  him,  which  he  did  not  appear  to  resent  until  the  ruffian,  Jack 
Young,  broke  his  sled,  when  he  showed  what  stuff  he  was  made  of. 
Every  minute  seemed  to  count  with  him  while  in  the  school-house, 
and  at  home  when  the  chores  were  done,  he  would  sit  beside  En- 
dura,  teaching  and  being  taught ;  so  that  in  three  years  he  was  selected 
to  teach  the  very  school  where  three  years  before  he  entered  as  a 
novice.  Was  it  natural  abilities  alone  that  so  soon  placed  him  in  the 
front  rank,  or  had  he  some  assisting  incentive  ?  True  he  had  a  re 
markable  capacity,  and  his  splendid  'physique  made  it  possible  for 
him  to  apply  himself  much  more  closely  than  he  otherwise  could  have 
done.  But  did  not  love  lend  wings  to  ambition  ?  Was  not  the  deter 
mination  to  be  something  more  than  a  mere  plodder,  the  first  step 
toward  the  accomplishing  the  purpose?  And  who  first  inspired  him? 
General  Ivers  was  kind  and  considerate;  Mrs.  Ivers  was  gentle  and 
motherly;  Endura  was  an  angel  of  beauty  and  innocence,  whose 
childish  caresses  soothed  him  in  his  trials,  and  encouraged  him  in  his 
labors.  Fortune  favored  him  in  all  his  undertakings,  which  appeared 
to  have  been  conceived  and  carried  out  wisely,  and  at  the  time  he  led 
Endura  to  the  altar  he  was  to  be  envied  if  ever  a  man  was  to  be,  and 
he  felt  that  he  was  blessed  above  his  merits. 

The  wedding  was  spoken  of  in  the  papers  as  an  event  of  unusual 
importance,  extolling  the  beauty  of  the  bride,  and  promising  a 
grand  future  for  the  groom,  who  had  succeeded  so  well  in  whatever 
he  had  undertaken. 

Mrs.  Ivers  was  spoken  of  as  a  remarkable  lady  for  one  of 
her  years.  Many  declared  that  she  did  not  look  forty,  and  some  be 
lieved  that  she  must  have  been  Endura's  step-mother  instead  of  her 
own  mother,  she  appeared  so  young  and  sprightly. 

There  were  many  beautiful  and  appropriate  presents  offered  the 
bride,  which  were  pleasantly  acknowledged.  The  most  simple  with 
the  same  feelings  as  were  the  costly  and  beautiful.  There  was  not 
a  present  given  where  the  heart  did  not  go  out  with  it,  to  meet  a 


272  ENDURA  :    OR, 

heart  as  warm.  Some  little  mementoes  from  her  late  pupils  were 
most  treasured.  Two  or  three  in  particular,  insignificant  in  them 
selves,  were. counted  above  silver  or  gold  for  their  pathetic  import. 

We  will  now  leave  the  bride  and  groom  to  enjoy  their  honeymoon, 
while  we  look  up  some  who  have  almost  been  forgotten. 


THREE    GENERATIONS.  273 


CHAPTER  XXIX. 

WEDDING    BELLS. 

Love  is  not  to  be  reason'd  down  or  lost 
In  high  ambition,  or  a  thirst  of  greatness. 
'Tis  second  life,  it  grows  into  the  love, 
Warms  ev'ry  vein,  and  beats  in  ev'ry  pulse. 

— Addisorfs  Cato. 

IT  will  be  remembered  that  when  Mr.   Charles  Wheat  first  visited 
S he  met  among  others  Clara  Haywood,  who  won  his  heart 

at  first  sight.  From  that  time  forth  he  anticipated  visiting  that  por 
tion  of  the  country  with  far  more  pleasure  than  when  called  upon  to  be 
the  bearer  of  the  sad  tidings  which  first  took  him  thither. 

Mr.  Haywood  soon  after  sold  his  place  in  W ,  and  removed 

to  the  city,  where  he  purchased  a  beautiful  home  upon  one  of  the 
fashionable  streets,  and  Charley  Wheat  was  doubtless  very  glad  of 
the  change,  as  it  brought  his  lady-love  so  much  nearer  to  him.  He 
did  not  restrict  himself  to  one  evening  in  the  week,  but  went  often  and 
stayed  long,  and  his  companions  voted  him  very  much  in  love.  He 
finally  concluded  to  have  her  nearer  to  him  still.  He  asked  her  to 
be  his  wife,  and  she,  nothing  loth,  consented ;  so  they  were  married  and 
both  made  happy,  and  the  next  year  the  sign  over  the  door  of  the 
great  establishment  read  : 

HAYWOOD  &   WHEAT, 
IMPORTERS. 

Brother  Spooner  had  been  ordained  a  minister  of  the  gospel,  and 

occasionally  visited  W and  preached  to  the  faithful ;  but  he  never 

told  them  anything  new.  In  fact,  he  had  nothing  new  to  tell  them. 
He  preached  the  same  old  doctrine,  in  the  same,  meaningless,  stupid 
manner.  He  made  long  prayers,  claiming  to  have  faith,  and,  doubt 
less,  he  tried  to  remove  mountains  by  faith.  But  the  smallest  cobbles 
would  not  move  an  inch  by  all  the  faith  he  could  bring  to  bear  upon 
them 


274  ENDURA:  OR, 

He  exhorted  them  to  love  one  another,  and  in  that  he  set  them  an 
example,  by  loving  all  the  pretty  young  ladies  of  his  flock.  He  said 
he  was  sure  of  going  to  heaven,  and  ready  and  anxious  to  enter  in 
through  the  pearly  gates  into  the  New  Jerusalem,  and  leave  this  world 
of  care  and  sorrow.  But  when  he  grew  sick,  and  apparently  the  time 
approached  when  he  might  have  an  opportunity  of  trying  the  realities 
of  that  heavenly  country,  he  always  voted  to  stay  a  little  longer. 
He  was  a  good  adviser,  and  if  people  would  do  as  well  as  he  told 
them  they  would  be  very  good,  and  deserve  about  all  he  promised 
them. 

Donald  Kent  purchased  the  Ivers'  place,  and  had  his  father  and 
mother  move  there,  and  one  of  his  sisters  went  with  them.  The 
neighbors  all  liked  them  and  did  all  they  could  to  make  them  con 
tented  and  happy.  That  they  succeeded  there  could  have  been  no 
doubt,  for  they  lived  on  the  very  best  terms  with  all  of  them. 
Donald  also  did  as  he  had  promised  his  mother,  with  the  rest  of  the 
family.  In  fact,  the  generosity  and  kindness  of  Donald  Kent  was 
talked  of  everywhere  through  the  country.  While  in  Boston  his  great 
abilities  were  admitted  by  those  in  and  out  the  profession. 

The  winter  passed  rapidly  and  pleasantly.  Spring  came,  when  it 

was  proposed  to  make  a  flying  trip  to  S .  In  order  to  be  entirely 

independent  and  at  liberty  to  go  and  come  at  his  pleasure,  Donald 
concluded  to  drive  there  instead  of  going  by  rail  and  stage.  When 
he  reached  his  father's  they  were  in  the  midst  of  spring  work.  But, 
of  course,  everything  was  laid  aside  for  the  visitors. 

Donald  was  reminded  of  the  time  when  he  first  came  there  as  a 
boy,  and  of  the  great  changes  which  had  taken  place.  He  went  to 
the  little  room  which  he  occupied,  so  near  the  roof  that  every  rain 
drop  could  be  distinctly  heard.  He  laid  down  upon  the  little 
bed  where  had  slept,  and  tried  to  realize  the  wonderful  changes 
which  had  taken  place.  He  had  not  lain  there  long  when  the  gen 
tle  rain-drops  began  to  patter,  faster  and  faster,  until  he  felt  as  though 
it  were  a  dream,  and,  being  tired,  he  fell  asleep. 

He  was  missed  in  and  about  the  house,  and  inquiry  was  made  for 
him,  but  no  one  appeared  to  know  where  he  had  gone.  He  had  been 
absent  for  an  hour  perhaps,  when  Mrs.  Ivers  in  looking  over  the  house 
came  to  his  room,  as  it  was  always  called.  Stepping  in  she  saw  him  up- 


THREE    GENERATIONS.  275 

upon  the  bed  She  did  not  disturb  him,  but  went  and  told 
Endura,  who  could  scarcely  bear  to  have  him  out  of  her  sight.  His 
wife  went  to  him  immediately,  and  putting  her  lips  to  his  forehead  kiss 
ed  him  fervently.  Opening  his  eyes,  he  saw  an  angel  of  beauty  an 
loveliness  leaning  over  him.  It  was  the  spirit  of  his  dream  clothed  in 
flesh. 

He  clasped  her  to  his  breast  and  said  :  "  My  darling  wife  !  God 
bless  you!  I  thought  it  was  a  dream." 

"  So  it  is,  Donald,  and  I  am  the  spirit  of  it  more  substantially 
clothed.  So  you  may  dream  on  ;  I  will  still  be  near  you. " 

The  rain  continued  to  fall,  and  Donald  enjoyed  it  now  all  the 
more,  since  the  reality  of  his  beautiful  dream  was  with  him.  As  they 
sat  there  together  listening  to  the  steady  patter  upon  the  shingled  roof, 
Donald,  putting  his  arm  lovingly  around  her,  kissed  her  and  said: 

"Shall  I  tell  my  little  one  a  story?  " 

Endura  looked  at  him  scarcely  knowing  what  to  say.  At  last,  ap 
parently  recovering  herself,  she  said, "  Anything,  dear,  from  you  cannot 
but  be  interesting.  But  you  must  not  hide  from  me  again." 

Donald  began:  "Years  ago,  I  came  to  this  house  an  awk 
ward  boy.  I  slept  upon  this  bed.  Upon  this  very  pillow  I  rested 
my  tired  head.  The  rain  pattered  upon  the  roof  as  it  does  now.  I 
was  very  lonely.  I  knew  there  was  work  for  me  to  do.  At  night  I 
came  to  bed  dreading  the  morrow.  The  rain  soothed  me  and  I  slept; 
I  might  have  dreamed  as  I  dreamt  just  now;  but,  like  the  sailor-boy's 
dream  of  home,  awaking  dispelled  it.  I  went  forth  to  labor. 

"  I  was  kindly  treated,  and  I  gave  kindness  for  kindness,  which 
created  in  me  something  better  and  more  noble.  Whatever  I  did 
that  was  good  and  kind  came  back  to  me  an  hundred  fold,  which 
stimulated  me  to  do  better  and  better  until  I  was  astonished  at  my 
self.  But  I  saw  no  way  to  lift  myself  above  the  position  of  a  depen 
dent,  a  servant  to  be  commanded.  Through  your  father's  kind  in 
tercession  and  influence,  I  was  selected  and  engaged  to  teach  the 
district  school.  I  improved  every  opportunity.  I  studied  hard;  I  read 
Greek  and  Latin,  and  French  and  Spanish.  To  what  purpose  I  did 
not  know;  I  was  anxious  to  learn  and  everything  seemed  to  favor  my 
doing  so.  New  fields  opened  to  me,  one  after  another.  I  was  offered 
positions.  My  friends  tried  to  push  me  ahead.  I  went  to  Boston  with 


276  ENDURA:   OR, 

a  letter  from  your  father  to  Mr.  Stern,  who  had  formerly  been  a  class 
mate  with  him. 

"  I  presented  the  letter,  and  well  I  remember  his  words.  He 
looked  to  me  curiously  and  said  :  'The  General  speaks  well  of  you, 
and  we  will  see  what  we  can  do  for  you. '  I  was  told  to  call  the  next 
day,  which  I  did  not  fail  to  do,  and  was  put  at  work  writing  some 
receipts.  I  did  some  copying  and  then  I  was  given  some  compara 
tively  unimportant  matters  to  attend  to,  all  of  which  I  did  to  the  ap 
parent  satisfaction  of  my  principals.  I  was  then  intrusted  with  more 
important  business  which  I  discharged  to  the  best  of  my  abilities.  My 
health  gave  way  and  I  wrote  to  your  father  to  know  if  I  might  come 
and  work  for  him  as  I  used  to  do.  I  came;  you  know  what  followed. 
I  was  very  ill.  Your  mother  cared  for  me  as  for  her  own  son. 

"  I  recovered  and  returned  to  Boston  to  find  awaiting  me  an  impor 
tant  mission  which  I  was  at  first  reluctant  to  undertake  ;  but,  being 
pressed  to  do  so,  I  finally  agreed,  with  many  misgivings,  to  do  my 
best. 

"  I  crossed  the  ocean,  left  behind  me  all  my  friends  and  the  scenes 
so  dear  to  memory,  to  become  for  a  time  an  exile  in  a  strange  land. 
Fortune  still  favored  me.  I  met  and  made  other  friends.  New 
scenes  opened  before  me.  A  new  life  began. 

"Providentially,  and  I  say  it  with  reverence,  my  eyes  were 
opened  as  by  a  miracle,  and  I  saw,  or  thought  I  could  see,  the  end  as 
it  finally  was.  Through  it  all,  one  sweet  angel  hovered  near,  and 
smiled  approvingly  upon  every  success.  I  was  flattered  by  the  great 
and  entertained  by  the  wealthy.  I  was  courted  and  favored  wherever . 
my  success  became  known.  Beautiful  ladies  entertained  me  and 
showed  me  great  preference.  I  felt  proud  of  their  respect.  I  felt 
honored  by  their  attentions ;  but  farther  they  had  no  effect  upon  me. 
There  was  one  loved  face  and  form  that  was  ever  with  me ;  one 
which  I  could  not  forget.  I  did  not  try  to  forget  her,  but,  on  the 
contrary,  my  greatest  happiness  was  in  keeping  her  constantly  with 
me. 

"  During  this  time  your  lover  and  affianced  was  taken  from  you.  I 
knew  him  to  be  honorable  and  worthy,  and  my  heart  bled  for  you 
Your  father's  death  followed  close  upon  that  of  your  affianced  hus 
band.  It  was  then  that  my  whole  being  went  out  to  you  in  love  and 


THREE    GENERATIONS.  277 

sympathy.  Hope  sprang  up  again  within  my  breast.  I  pictured  you 
in  distress,  alone  with  your  widowed  mother,  and  I  longed  to  be  with 
you.  I  could  scarcely  wait ;  but  matters  which  I  had  in  hand  must 
be  carried  out.  So  I  stayed  on  and  labored  until  complete  success 
crowned  my  efforts,  when  I  bade  my  friends  and  colleagues  good  bye 
and  sailed  for  New  York,  where  I  arrived,  after  a  very  short  passage. 
I  went  immediately  to  Boston  to  render  my  accounts  to  my  superiors, 
which  was  done  in  the  shortest  possible  time,  and  then  I  hastened 
here,  and  darling,  you  know  the  rest. 

"Was  it  any  wonder  that  I  slept,  with  the  soothing  patter  of  the 
rain,  with  such  pleasant  reminiscenses.  I  have  lived  it  all  over  again 
— the  bitter  has  been  less  bitter  and  the  sweet  far  more  sweet.  I 
have  had  a  lovely  sleep,  and,  instead  of  waking  to  sorrow  and  disap 
pointment,  my  sweetest  dream  is  a  delicious  reality.  It  is  not  your 
spirit,  but  the  substance  that  I  look  upon  and  clasp  in  my  arms.  I 
feel  your  soft  lips  upon  mine,  and  your  golden  hair  is  beside  my 
cheek.  Why  should  I  not  be  happy  ?  Am  I  not  supremely  blessed  ?  " 

Endura  listened  until  he  concluded  without  speaking.  She  then 
said  : 

"  I,  too,  have  a  story  to  tell.  Ever  so  many  years  ago  when  I  was 
a  child,  a  great  good-natured  boy  came  to  live  in  our  family." 

"  Yes ;  you  have  told  me  all  about  him." 

"  He  was  my  protector,  my  friend,  my  teacher,  my  lover  and  is 
now  my  darling  husband.  I  cannot  remember  when  I  did  not  love 
you.  At  first,  as  a  child  loves  one  who  is  kind  to  her,  then  as  a  sis 
ter  loves  a  brother.  I  felt  that  I  could  do  nothing  without  you.  You 
could  not  have  known  how  dependent  I  was  upon  you.  At  first  my 
mother  chid  me  for  being  '  so  babyish,'  as  she  called  it. 

"  But  nothing  changed  my  feelings.  Father  was  constantly  telling 
of  your  noble  qualities  in  my  hearing,  and  I  repeated  what  he  said  to 
others,  sometimes  adding  something  which  I  knew  myself.  I  was 
once  told  that  I  might  marry  you  yet.  Indeed,  I  heard  it  talked  of 
often,  but  nothing  was  further  from  my  thoughts.  When  you  went 
away  I  was  so  lonely  that  I  cried  a  great  part  of  the  time  for  two 
weeks,  and  when  you  came  to  see  us  you  little  dreamt  how  happy 
you  made  me.  Not  even  the  visit  of  Bernard  pleased  me  so  much. 
You  were  so  kind,  so  generous,  so  good  and  so  noble  that  I  could 


278  ENDURA:  OR, 

not  help  loving  you.     And  I  should  have  continued  to  love  you  to 
the  end. 

"  Then  came  your  visit  when  you  told  me  your  love  and  asked  me 
to  be  yours,  when  I  had  already  promised  my  hand  to  another. 
What  could  I  do  ?  My  heart  was  rent  in  twain.  I  was  distressed, 
and  when  you  told  me  that  I  refused  you  because  of  the  difference 
in  our  positions,  I  was  almost  distracted.  O,  Donald,  you  can  never 
know  the  heart-rending  agony  of  that  moment.  I  thought  that  if  you 
had  but  told  me  before,  how  different  would  have  been  the  situation. 
I  loved  Rodney  Haywood.  I  learned  to  love  him  for  his  many  good 
qualities,  for  his  generous  nature  and  gentlemanly  characteristics.  I 
believed  he  was  no  common  man ;  and  he  told  me  how  much  he 
loved  me  and  how  much  his  people  thought  of  me. 

"He  pictured  the  future  so  bright  that  I  thought  nothing  could  sur 
pass  it.  My  love  for  him  increased  until  his  death,  and  then  I  al 
most  reproached  myself  for  thinking  so  much  of  you.  My  love  for 
you  was  so  different ;  it  was  vigorous  from  the  first.  I  never  schooled 
myself  to  love  you,  it  was  spontaneous,  and  I  could  no  more  help  it 
than  I  can  help  breathing.  Was  it  unnatural  then,  that  my  thoughts 
should  turn  to  you  almost  as  soon  as  I  had  recovered  from  the 
shock  given  me  by  the  news  of  Rodney's  death  ?  Was  it  wicked  that 
my  whole  soul  and  being  turned  to  you  ?  In  a  distant  land  as  you 
were,  I  felt  that  I  might  never  see  you  again  and  that  it  would  not  be 
wrong  for  me  to  love  you.  I  argued  with  myself  that  it  was  godlike 
to  love  anyone  or  anything  worth  loving,  and  I  almost  worshiped  you, 
believing  that  you  were  possessed  of  all  the  attributes  ascribed  to 
man. 

"  I  received  your  letters  and  treasured  every  word  they  contained. 
I  tried  in  vain  to  discover  something  indicating  a  renewal  of  your 
old  love.  I  hoped  you  would  think  of  me  as  in  the  past,  possibly 
your  love  might  return,  and — the  thought  almost  paralyzed  me — per 
haps  I  might  yet  be  your  wife.  You  returned,  and  we  met,  you 
know  how.  I  had  fears  even  then,  that  you  might  not  have  forgiven 
me  for  refusing  you  ;  but  I  felt  that  if  you  did  but  know  all,  you 
would  relent.  When  we  walked  out  together  and  sat  down  upon 
that  great  rock,  my  heart  stood  still. 


THREE    GENERATIONS.  279 

"  I  trembled  as  you  spoke,  and  when  you  repeated  those  well- 
remembered  words  my  happiness  knew  no  bounds.  I  could  have 
fallen  down  and  worshiped  you.  But,  my  dear  husband,  I  am  hap 
pier  to-day  by  far.  I  feel  that  I  never  knew  half  your  noble  qualities 
before.  Now,  tell  me,  dear,  are  not  our  stories  very  like  ?  " 

Donald  kissed  her  and  said  : 

"  My  darling  wife,  God  has  been  very  good  to  us.  We  have  much 
to  be  thankful  for,  much  more  than  often  falls  to  the  lot  of  man.  I 
can  seem  to  see  the  finger  of  Providence  in  guiding  and  directing 
every  action  of  my  life,  and  I  sincerely  believe  that  my  mission  was 
marked  out  for  me  from  the  first  hour  that  I  came  under  this  roof. 
And  I  as  firmly  believe  that  you  were  predestined  to  be  my  good 
angel  through  it  all.  And  since  the  great  work  has  been  accom 
plished,  the  mission  fulfilled,  I  am  constrained  to  admit  that  you 
have  had  equally  as  much  to  do  with  the  final  result  as  myself.  You 
have  been  ubiquitous,  always  with  me,  guiding  and  directing,  en 
couraging  and  flattering,  admonishing  and  approving.  In  short,  you 
have  been  the  ruling  spirit  in  all  that  I  have  undertaken  ;  and,  as  I 
said  just  now,  to  God,  through  you,  I«owe  all." 

The  rain  still  pattered,  and  they  would  have  been  glad  to  have 
remained  and  listened  to  it.  But  they  were  called  to  dinner,  as 
from  heaven  to  the  grosser  things  of  earth. 

Early  spring  in  New  England  is  a  most  interesting  season. 
Every  bud  that  shows  itself  is  welcomed.  The  crocus  and  the 
hyacinth  are  looked  for  daily  ere  they  break  the  earth  and  come 
forth  to  bloom  in  beauty  and  waft  their  early  perfume  over  garden 
and  lawn.  The  trailing  arbutus  that  has  been  hidden  all  winter 
beneath  the  leaves  and  snow,  now  peeps  out  and  seems  to  say, 
"I  am  with  you."  The  puss  willows  bear  their  silky  buds  and 
tender  leaves  long  ere  the  sturdy  oak  puts  forth  or  the  elm  tree 
shows  its  green.  The  violets  peep  out  one  by  one  until  the  fields 
are  like  an  ocean — blue  and  undulating ;  and  so  on,  until  nature 
awakes  from  its  long  winter's  sleep  and  comes  forth  in  beauty 
to  bless  mankind. 

Donald  enjoyed  every  moment  of  the  time  they  were  in  S , 

but  scarcely  more  than  did  Endura,  who  was  his  constant  com- 


280 


ENDURA:  OR, 


panion.     Mrs.   Ivers    seemed    to  partake  of   their   pleasure,  but  it 
pleased  her  most  to  see  them  so  completely  happy. 

Thus  the  hours  sped  and  the  time  came  for  their  departure. 
They  returned  to  Boston  and  made  preparation  immediately  for 
their  European  trip.  Their  passage  was  engaged  for  the  steamer 
which  was  advertised  to  sail  on  the  i5th  of  May,  nearly  four 
years  after  Donald  had  made  his  first  voyage.  It  was  the  first 
time  that  Mrs.  Ivers  had  been  upon  the  water  since  her  fearful  ship 
wreck,  and  it  was  not  without  some  misgivings  and  feelings  of 
timidity  that  she  embarked  upon  an  ocean  that  had  been  so 
treacherous  before.  But  it  was  not  long  before  her  confidence 
was  restored  and  she  felt  as  secure  as  if  she  had  been  in  her  own 
home. 

The  passage  proved  to  be  a  remarkably  pleasant  one.  They  went 
direct  to  Havre.  Spent  a  few  days  in  Paris,  which  was  like  a  dream 
to  Endura.  They  remained  in  Paris  until  they  were  really  tired  of 
seeing,  and  almost  willing  to  shut  their  eyes  when  some  wonderful 
thing  was  pointed  out.  Objects  which  would  have  created  the  greatest 
interest  two  weeks  before,  were  now  passed  unnoticed.  The  grand 
buildings  were  looked  upon  as  a  matter  of  course,  and  the  magnificent 
monuments  were  but  so  much  marble  or  bronze.  The  libraries,  gar 
dens,  galleries  of  paintings  or  of  statuary,  the  palaces  and  other  public 
edifices,  were  all  looked  upon  alike,  with  comparative  indifference. 
Even  the  great  Church  of  St.  Genevieve,  of  which  Endura  had  heard 
so  much  and  was  so  anxious  to  see,  was  passed  and  repassed  unnoticed. 

They  visited  Rheims  and  saw  the  grand  cathedral,  and  several 
other  places  whithin  easy  distance  of  Paris,  before  leaving  for  the 
South.  Finally  they  went  to  Lyons  and  on  to  Marseilles,  which  was 
really  the  end  of  their  great  journey.  After  resting  some  days  in 
Marseilles,  they  set  out  for  the  Chateau  Vieux,  which  they  reached 
the  same  day.  Donald  had  instructed  the  agent  to  have  everything 
in  order,  and  the  arrival  of  the  marchioness  and  her  daughter  was 
made  the  occasion  of  a  great  demonstration. 

The  great  castle  was  decked  with  flags  and  banners ;  and  the  cot 
tages,  many  of  them  were  flying  the  tri-color.  Floral  emblems  and 
wreaths  were  everywhere  to  be  seen. 


THREE    GENERATIONS.  281 

From  the  main  tower  of  the  castle  floated  the  stars  and  stripes, 
side  by  side  with  the  royal  ensign  of  France. 

When  the  carriage  drove  up,  containing  the  party  of  four — the  con 
sul  at  Marseilles  had  consented  to  accompany  them — a  rousing  cheer 
was  given  for  the  marchioness  and  her  daughter;  another  for  their  old 
friend,  the  Honorable  Mr.  Kent;  and  finally  for  the  Honorable  Mr. 
Consul.  Donald  was  welcomed  by  his  old  friends,  as  no  man  had 
been  welcomed  for  more  than  a  generation.  The  old  keeper  met 
him,  hat  in  hand,  and  gave  him  the  keys  to  the  chateau. 

The  wives  and  daughters  of  the  villagers  were  there,  dressed  in 
their  best,  to  do  honor  to  the  lady  who  had  been  so  long  kept  out  of 
her  inheritance.  They  were  all  much  pleased  to  see  the  daughter 
and  granddaughter  of  the  old  master,  whom  some  of  the  older  ones 
still  remembered. 

The  great  double  doors  of  the  castle  were  thrown  open,  when  a 
picture  of  rare  beauty  presented  itself  to  the  beholder. 

Rows  of  hanging  baskets,  filled  with  rare  and  fragrant  flowers,  were 
upon  either  hand;  alternating  with  the  baskets  of  flowers,  were  sing 
ing  birds,  with  banners  suspended  beneath  them,  bearing  appropriate 
mottoes  in  English  and  French. 

The  Marchioness  was  shown,  at  once,  to  her  room,  which  had  been 
restored  to  its  original  appearance.  And  the  transformation  was 
really  wonderful  since  Donald  saw  it  upon  his  former  visit.  The 
draperies  had  been  renewed,  even  to  the  monograms;  and  the  old 
pieces  of  furniture,  which  were  but  wrecks  one  year  before,  were  now 
restored  to  their  pristine  beauty. 

To  Mrs.  Ivers  it  was  like  the  grotto  of  enchantment.  And  when 
told  that  that  was  the  room  in  which  she  was  born,  she  could  but  weep. 
Seating  herself  in  a  luxurious  chair,  she  did  not  appear  to  wish  to 
converse  with  anyone.  Donald  bent  over,  and  kissing  her  upon  her 
forehead,  said  : 

"Mother,  dear,  are  you  quite  happy?" 

She  awoke,  as  it  were,  from  sleep,  and  looked  around.  Seeing  no 
one  but  Donald,  she  said : 

"Are  you  indeed  my  son?  Thank  God  for  such  a  son!  I  bless 
you  and  pray  that  your  life  may  be  long  spared,  and  that  God,  in  his 
great  goodness,  will  continue  to  give  you  health  and  honors.  But  for 


282 


ENDURA :     OR 


me  my  cup  is  full.  What  more  can  the  earth  give  ?  I  have  sounded 
its  depths  and  soared  to  its  loftiest  hights.  I  would  bless  all,  as  I 
have  been  blessed.  But  amid  all  this  splendor  I  can  never  be  as 
happy  as  I  have  been  in  my  old  home  beyond  the  sea;  and  whenever 
it  shall  please  you  to  return,  I  shall  be  ready  and  only  too  happy  to 
accompany  you.  I  know  your  business  is  in  Boston,  and  I  will  be 
contented  to  reside  there,  or  anywhere  you  and  Endura  may  wish, 
so  that  I  may  be  ever  near  you.  All  that  I  have  I  owe  to  you,  and 
it  is  all  yours  to  do  with  as  you  may  desire.  So  may  you  be  blessed  ! " 

Donald  thanked  her  and  told  her  that  he  had  enough,  but  that  as 
her  steward  he  would  continue  to  assist  her  to  manage  her  estate; 
and  he  hoped  she  might  live  many  years  to  enjoy  it.  But  that  he 
had  duties  to  perform  in  the  United  States  that  would  call  him  thither 
at  an  early  day,  and  inasmuch  as  he  could  not  think  of  leaving  his 
wife  behind  him  in  France,  it  would  be  too  much  to  expect  that  she 
would  be  content  to  remain  after  he  and  his  wife  should  go  away, 
even  amid  all  the  beauty  and  luxury  which  surrounded  her.  He  said 
he  would  arrange  to  remain  for  a  few  months,  during  which  time  they 
would  make  the  tour  of  France  and  Spain,  and  then  cross  over  into 
Italy  and  spend  the  winter.  In  the  spring  he  would  return  to  Amer 
ica.  But  if  Endura  would  rather  remain  at  the  chateau  a  few 
months,  while  he  should  go  to  Boston  and  return,  he  would  not  seri 
ously  object. 

Just  then  Endura  came  in  and  he  told  her  somewhat  of  his  plans. 
She  said  that  she  could  never  consent  to  be  separated  from  him  again. 
So  long  as  he  wished  to  remain  in  France  she  would  be  contented, 
but  nothing  would  please  her  more  than  to  return  to  dear  old  New 
England.  The  opportunity  was  too  favorable  to  travel  through 
finished  France  and  declining  Spain  to  be  omitted ;  and  then  to  visit 
sunny  Italy,  which  had  been  the  dream  of  their  life,  would  be  a 
lasting  pleasure.  The  very  thought  of  that  bright  land  of  song  and 
flowers,  caused  the  blood  in  their  veins  to  flow  more  free. 

To  think  of  visiting  the  Eternal  City  and  standing  beneath  the 
great  dome  of  St.  Peters  together, — to  tread  upon  the  sacred  pave 
where  the  pilgrims  of  centuries  long  past  had  trodden,  was  itself  joy 
in  anticipation.  To  breath  the  air  of  Rome,  to  walk  above  the 
buried  thousands  who  long  since  mingled  with  the  dust, — those  who 


THREE    GENERATIONS.  283 

once  lived  to  love,  to  honor,  and  be  beloved  and  honored,  but  whose 
names  shall  never  more  be  recalled.  They  would  behold  the  muddy 
Tiber,  still  going  on  as  of  old.  There  was  the  great  Coliseum  and  the 
Vatican,  a  vast  palace  of  the  Pope  filled  with  the  finest  works  of  the 
great  masters,  Raphael  and  Michael  Angelo.  What  a  wonderful 
city  is  Rome  !  If  wonderful  to-day,  what  must  it  have  been  at  the 
hight  of  its  ancient  splendor,  when  it  stood  the  empress  of  the  world, 
and  the  greatest  honor  was  in  being  able  to  say,  "I  am  a  Roman 
citizen." 

All  these  thoughts  arise  in  the  minds  of  those  who  approach  the 
Eternal  City,  or  of  those  who  contemplate  a  journey  thither.  It  was 
no  wonder  then  that  Donald  Kent  determined  to  visit  Italy,  and  his 
wife  and  mother  anticipated  it  as  much  as  himself.  But  first,  la  belle 
France,  prosperous,  happy  France,  must  be  visited.  Her  wonderful 
monuments,  her  beautiful  temples,  her  grand  forests,  her  beautiful 
vineyards,  her  castles  and  her  cottages — France,  the  favored  of  the 
earth,  the  country  of  endless  beauty  and  boundless  resources,  the 
country  that  paid  millions  upon  millions  indemnity  for  a  great  war, 
and  lost  vast  territories  which  were  given  over  to  the  conquerors ; 
and  yet  grandly  emerged,  richer  than  the  victors,  and  more  glorious 
far  than  ever  she  has  been  before. 

Such  is  the  France  of  to-day,  and  her  star  is  still  in  the  ascendant. 
Independent  France,  Republican  France,  the  mirror  of  civilization, 
the  pride  of  her  sons,  the  finished  garden  of  the  world.  May  she 
ever  flourish  as  a  Republic,  growing  wiser  as  time  rolls  on  ! 

What  of  Spain  ?  She  gave  Columbus  to  the  world,  and  he  gave 
us  America,  which  has  far  outstripped  all  lands  under  the  sun.  While 
Spain  has  rapidly  declined  and  shrunk,  America  has  risen  and  ex 
panded.  In  Spain  we  behold  the  monuments  of  past  greatness 
crumbling  to  dust — the  soil  untilled,  while  rank  weeds  choke  the 
vine  that  struggles  for  life  ;  commerce  is  strangled  ;  agriculture, 
neglected  ;  art,  declining  ;  wealth,  growing  less ;  education,  at  a  stand 
still — in  short,  ruin  and  decay  at  every  turn.  And  this  is  the  land  of 
romance,  once  the  peer  of  France,  whose  Armada  awed  and  aston 
ished  the  world.  Misfortunes  have  overtaken  her,  her  fleets  were 
destroyed,  earthquakes  leveled  her  cities,  fell  diseases  struck  down 
her  sons  and  her  daughters,  corrupt  rulers  stripped  her  of  her  apparel 


284  ENDURA:    OR, 

and  robbed  her  of  her  gold,  and  left  her,  as  she  is  to-day,  bleeding 
and  naked,  her  people,  as  a  whole,  ignorant,  superstitious  and  bigot 
ed,  without  ambition  and  without  aim.  Pitied  and  despised  Spain  ! 
Once  the  mother  of  the  children  of  the  sun ;  now  the  decrepit  dame 
of  a  degenerate  people.  Although  Spain  appears  to  be  in  decline, 
yet  there  is  much  to  interest  and  instruct  in  poor  old  Spain. 


THREE    GENERATIONS.  285 


CHAPTER  XXX. 

THE    TIME    WILL    COME. 

Give  me  my  home,  to  quiet  dear, 

Where  hours  unfold,   and  peaceful  move; 

So  fate  ordain,  I  sometimes  there 
May  hear  the  voice  of  him  I  love. 

— Mrs.  Opic. 

GOLDSMITH  says  in  his  «  Deserted  Village  "  : 
"  If  nature's  bounties  could  satisfy  the  breast 
The  sons  of  Italy  weres  urely  blessed." 

But  a  sunny  land  alone  cannot  make  a  people  happy.  A  country 
which  is  oppressed  cannot  flourish.  Slaves  are  not  like  free  men. 
Taxation  may  enrich  a  few,  but  it  impoverishes  many  who  become 
discouraged  and  discontented,  when  they  are  no  longer  good  citizens. 
Intolerance  is  another  kind  of  oppression,  and  where  it  exists  the 
country  does  not  flourish.  And,  without  doubt,  this  is  one  of  the 
causes  of  the  decline  of  New  England.  For  we  cannot  shut  our  eyes 
to  the  fact  that  the  agricultural  portions  of  New  England  is  not  what 
it  was  half  a  century  ago. 

It  cannot  all  be  attributed  to  bigotry,  ignorance  and  intolerance. 
But  that  these  three  agents  have  had  much  to  do  with  its  present 
decay  there  can  be  little  doubt.  The  productive  soil  of  the  far  West 
has  been  another  weight  to  pull  her  down.  So  that  to-day  New  Eng 
land  is  driven  to  the  strait  of  importing  the  operatives  for  her  mills  as 
well  as  the  bread  to  feed  them  with.  But  the  time  will  come  when  the 
whole  eastern  coast  from  Maine  to  Georgia,  will  be  made  beautiful  and 
inviting  by  new  blood  and  new  enterprises.  But  never  again  will  the 
corn  and  the  flax  be  the  staples  to  enrich  her.  Instead  of  raising 
wheat  and  corn,  and  seeking  a  market  for  it  abroad  they  will  invite 
the  people  from  crowded  cities  to  spend  the  summers  with  them,  to 
breath  the  fresh  air  and  enjoy  the  pleasures  of  country  life,  for  which 
they  will  demand  a  moderate  compensation. 

It  is  already  being  done  to  a  considerable  extent.     But  upon  the 


286  ENDURA  :    OR, 

present  plan  the  expense  is  too  great  for  those  in  moderate  circum 
stances.  To  go  to  the  country,  as  it  is  called,  is  but  to  go,  as  it 
were,  from  one  city  hotel  to  another.  The  latter  more  luxurious  and 
extravagant  than  the  former.  Such  are  the  watering  places  and 
summer  resorts  of  the  present  time.  The  time  will  come  when  good, 
plain  food  at  low  prices,  and  pure  country  air  will  be  what  health 
and  pleasure  seekers  from  the  city  will  look  for.  Where  they  will  not 
be  called  upon  to  dress  better  than  in  their  offices  or  work-shops,  but 
they  can  put  on  the  worst  clothes  they  have,  and  not  be  ashamed  of 
themselves. 

Such  will  be  the  golden  era  for  the  over-worked  poor  of  great  cities, 
and  the  well-to-do  and  moderately  rich  will  hail  the  day  when  they 
can  take  their  families  to  the  country  to  enjoy  its  blessings  without 
making  preparations  a  month  or  two  beforehand. 

May  the  day  soon  come  when  such  a  prophecy  shall  be  realized. 
When  New  England  will  once  more  flourish,  and  our  old  homes  be 
brightened  as  they  were  wont  to  be  with  youth  and  beauty,  and  her 
people  be  generous  and  polite.  Christians  of  different  creeds 
will  learn  to  tolerate  each  other  by  feeling  that  they  are  journey 
ing  to  the  same  goal.  The  rich  invalid  will  meet  the  happy,  healthy 
poor  man  with  whom  he  would  gladly  exchange  situations,  and  a  gen 
eral  fellow-feeling  will  add  to  the  happiness  of  all. 

It  is  the  fault  of  American  travelers  that  they  try  to  see  too  much. 
They  fly  from  town  to  town  and  from  city  to  city,  and  so  tire  them 
selves  with  expectation  and  worriment  that  they  are  unfitted  to  enjoy 
or  appreciate  the  wonderful  and  the  beautiful.  Instead  of  going  about 
it  calmly  in  a  methodical  way,  as  they  would  to  study  a  lesson  that 
they  would  learn  well.  They  skim  over  it  in  haste  as  many  read 
books  who  know  little  or  nothing  of  them  when  they  are  through. 

What  does  a  visitor  know  of  the  great  art  galleries  of  the  world  by 
simply  passing  through  them?  Perhaps  some  celebrated  statue  or 
painting  which  is  well  written  up  may  detain  him  for  a  few  minutes, 
simply  that  he  may  be  able  to  say  that  he  had  seen  it,  without  know 
ing  any  more  about  it  than  he  did  before. 

Donald  and  his  party  did  not  travel  in  that  way.  They  visited  the 
different  places,  and  during  their  sojourn  they  learned  all  that  it  was 
possible  for  them  to  learn.  They  studied  the  works  of  the  old 


THREE    GENERATIONS.  287 

masters,  and  compared  them  with  the  works  of  modern  artists,  and 
often  the  latter  received  the  most  flattering  compliments  as  against 
the  world-indorsed  masterpiece  of  some  great  genius.  The  criticism  of 
such  is  honest  to  say  the  least,  and  inasmuch  as  such  honest  critics 
are  largely  in  the  majority  who  shall  say  their  opinion  is  not  entitled 
to  weight  ? 

That  person  who  simply  echoes  public  opinion  shows  that  he  is  not 
capable  of  having  an  opinion  of  his  own,  and  he  is  unworthy  the 
name  of  critic.  There  is  often  greater  interest  in  the  history  of  a 
painting  than  in  the  painting  itself.  Under  what  circumstances  was 
it  painted  ?  What  was  the  incentive  ? 

If  poets  and  painters  are  inspired,  their  works  show  it. 
They  inspire  the  beholder.  There  is  an  inexpressible  something 
which  touches  the  heart  and  lifts  us  above  ourselves.  For  the 
moment  we  forget  ourselves  to  mingle  with  the  artist  in  his  own 
world.  A  painting  without  merit  cannot  so  effect  us.  An  inspired 
poem  thrills  the  soul.  We  seem  to  feel  what  the  poet  felt,  indorsing 
every  line.  Who  that  has  read  the  sacred  hymns  of  Doctor  Watts 
has  not  felt  that  the  writer  was  inspired?  Not  only  Dr.  Watts,  but 
many  other  writers — Burns'  beautiful  poem,  "To  Mary  in  Heaven." 
The  poet  approached  his  lost  love  as  nearly  as  possible.  He  seemed 
to  converse  with  her,  but  he  alone  heard  her  responses.  Moore  and 
Byron  live  to-day  in  their  beautiful  lines.  So  with  the  whole  line  of 
poets  from  Homer  down  to  Whittier,  some  portions  of  their  writings 
bear  the  stamp  of  inspiration  and  they  will  live  when  the  great 
mass  of  their  labored  writings  shall  be  forgotten.  The  inspired  poem 
outlives  the  poet. 

And  so  with  the  sculptor.  Simply  a  beautiful  figure  does  not 
stamp  him  as  an  artist.  There  must  be  consistency  and  expression. 
The  soul  must  show  in  the  marble  as  it  was  felt  in  the  artist.  One 
scratch  of  the  chisel  may  make  or  unmake  perfection ;  one  cramped 
or  awkward  limb  will  ruin  the  whole.  The  artist  must  make  the 
beholder  feel  what  he  felt,  and  see  what  he  saw,  or  else  his  work  is 
love's  labor  lost.  Why  is  not  a  copy  as  good  as  the  original?  Sim 
ply  because  it  lacks  the  soul  which  the  original  artist  gave  his  work. 
Visit  a  gallery  where  a  great  painting  is  on  exhibition,  a  painting 
which  has  run  the  gauntlet  of  critics  and  come  out  unscathed ;  it  will 


288 


ENDURA  :    OR, 


attract  a  crowd,  and  all  will  be  hushed  and  still,  every  beholder 
will  be  too  busy  with  his  own  thoughts  to  break  the  charm  by  uttering 
a  loud  word.  Men  sometimes  sit  for  hours  contemplating  a  statue 
or  a  painting,  measuring  and  comparing,  looking  for  imperfections 
which  do  not  exist,  and  stumbling  upon  those  which  were  not 
thought  of,  and  may  not  be  imperfections  at  all,  but  the  very  coun 
terpart  of  the  artist's  ideal,  peculiarities  which  none  but  the  artist 
ever  saw  and  which  are  often  discredited.  How  often  we  hear  the 
critic  say  that  the  sunset  is  too  brilliant  or  too  sombre!  Who  saw  the 
sunset  as  the  artist  saw  it  ?  He  felt  it  in  his  soul  and  stamped  it 
upon  the  canvas.  How  often  it  is  said,  "  What  a  magnificent  sunset ! " 
If  it  were  painted,  it  would  be  said  to  be  overdrawn. 

We  should  remember  that  in  nature  there  is  nothing  impossible  ; 
no  sky  too  red  and  no  clouds  too  black.  The  moon  may  be  in  the 
full  or  in  the  quarter ;  it  is  still  the  moon.  The  sun  may  dazzle  us 
with  his  fiery  rays  or  look  softly  through  a  dimming  cloud.  It  is  still 
the  sun.  And  so  with  every  freak  of  nature,  it  is  nature  still. 

Donald  Kent  was  well  calculated  to  travel.  He  was  well  read  and 
observing,  and  very  little  escaped  his  observation;  and  Endura's 
eagerness  to  see  and  learn  enthused  him  all  the  more.  Her  profes 
sion  as  a  teacher  made  her  familiar  with  the  geography  of  the 
different  countries  through  which  they  passed,  and  her  knowl 
edge  of  the  history  of  these  same  countries  was  of  the  greatest  im 
portance.  She  knew  what  was  to  be  seen  and  where  to  see  it. 
Many  things  they  could  not  help  contrasting  with  similar  things  in 
their  own  country  and  always  greatly  in  favor  of  home. 

Traveling  under  the  most  favorable  circumstances  is  tiresome. 
The  very  thought  wearies  the  mind,  which,  in  turn,  effects  us  phys 
ically.  Going  from  place  to  place,  staying  for  a  few  days,  it  may  be, 
and  then  packing  up  and  departing,  hurrying  to  meet  a  train  or  a 
steamer,  there  is  always  anxiety  and  bustle  until  you  are  settled 
again  and  your  baggage  secured.  When  you  reach  your  destination 
the  same  bustle  and  excitement  must  be  gone  through  with  again ; 
and  so  on,  until  we  finally  anchor  at  home,  when  the  relaxation  is  so 
great  that  we  almost  wish  we  were  still  going.  So  it  is  during  quiet 
and  rest ;  we  look  forward  to  excitement,  amid  which  we  long  for 
rest.  "Man  never  is  but  always  to  be  blest."  With  Donald  Kent 


THREE   GENERATIONS.  289 

it  was  an  opportunity  not  to  be  neglected,  as  it  could  scarcely  occur 
again,  consequently,  he  determined  to  make  the  most  of  it. 

The  summer  and  autumn  soon  passed,  and  Donald  Kent  and  his 
wife  and  Mrs  Ivers  found  themselves  in  Italy.  They  were  enjoying 
the  wonderful  and  the  beautiful  to  their  heart's  content. 

Not  satisfied  to  follow  the  beaten  track  of  tourists,  they  ventured 
upon  new  routes  and  into  strange  by-ways.  And  they  were  always 
well  repaid  as  they  not  unfrequently  stumbled  upon  objects  of  inter 
est,  which  those  who  followed  the  beaten  track  could  know  nothing  of. 
They  visited  the  mountains  and  the  wildest  portions  of  the  country 
— those  romantic  haunts  of  which  so  much  has  been  written,  but  so 
little  really  known.  At  one  time  the  party  had  a  narrow  escape 
from  the  banditti  who  infest  those  regions  ;  but  they  were  admonished 
and  became  more  careful. 

As  the  spring  months  approached  they  were  ready  to  go  north. 
They  left  sunny  Italy,  not  without  some  regrets,  but  the  hope  of  being 
soon  in  their  own  country  made  them  willing  to  leave  the  land  of 
song  and  sunshine. 

They  remained  a  short  time  at  the  Chateau  Vieux  on  their 
return  from  Italy.  Donald  disposed  of  a  portion  of  the  estate  in 
subdivisions,  and  gave  long  leases  of  a  part  of  the  remainder.  The 
rest  he  placed  in  charge  of  a  worthy  and  competent  man  who  as 
agent  of  the  whole  was  to  report  directly  to  him. 

The  chateau  was  to  be  in  his  charge,  with  the  express  understand 
ing  that  his  old  friend  should  still  and  forever  hold  his  place  as  keep 
er  of  the  keys,  with  instructions  to  admit  travelers,  and  especially 
Americans,  whenever  they  made  application,  if  they  appeared  re 
spectable.  Donald  made  the  old  man  a  handsome  present,  and  the 
ladies  were  not  forgetful  of  his  many  kind  attentions  to  them  and  re 
membered  him  generously. 

When  the  affairs  of  the  estate  had  been  settled  satisfactorily  to  all  par 
ties  concerned,  the  trio  gathered  up  their  mementoes  and  a  portion  of  the 
furniture  of  the  chateau,  and  shipped  them  to  America  with  many 
art  treasures  which  they  had  secured  during  their  sojourn  abroad. 
All  of  these  were  intended  for  their  new  home  which  Donald  con 
templated  building  near  Boston. 

Upon    gathering    their    purchases    together     they    found    that 


290  ENDURA  !    OR, 

they  had  accumulated  far  more  than  they  expected,  and  they  could 
scarcely  believe  that  the  scores  of  great  boxes  were  full  of  articles 
which  they  had  purchased  during  their  stay  in  France  and  Italy. 
They  were  all  shipped  direct  to  Boston,  in  care  of  Stern,  Strong  & 
Kent. 

When  everything  had  been  packed  and  shipped,  it  was  but  the 
work  of  a  few  hours  for  the  anxious  travelers  to  be  ready  to  follow 
them.  How  the  exile's  heart  leaps  at  the  word  Home !  The 
traveler  who  has  had  a  surfeit  of  pleasure  longs  for  home  and  rest. 
"  Homeward  bound  " — there  is  a  charm  in  the  sound  of  the  two 
words. 

It  matters  not  if  stormy  seas  are  to  be  crossed,  or  if  mountains 
and  rivers  lie  between.  The  desert  may  lie  before  us  trackless  and 
barren.  If  home  is  beyond,  we  venture  fearlessly  upon  the  journey, 
buoyed  and  cheered  by  hope,  impatient,  it  may  be,  at  the  camel's 
slow  pace,  or  the  breeze  that  wafts  us  onward.  Even  the  speed  of 
the  iron  horse  is  not  sufficient  for  impatient  man. 

"  How  fleet  is  the  glance  of  the  mind  ! 

Compared  with  the  speed  of  its  flight, 
The  tempest  itself  lags  behind, 

And  the  swift  winged  arrows  of  light." 


THREE    GENERATIONS.  29 1 


CHAPTER  XXXI. 

HOME  AGAIN. 

"Bright  is  the  beautiful  land  of  our  birth, 
The  home  of  the  homeless  all  over  the  earth." 

— Street's  Poems, 

"  I  flew  to  the  pleasant  fields,  traversed  so  oft 

In  life's  morning  march  when  my  bosom  was  young  ; 
I  heard  my  own  mountain  goat  bleating  aloft, 

And  knew  the  sweet  strain  that  the  corn-reapers  sung." 

— Campbell. 

THE  travelers  have  returned,  welcomed  by  all.     Beloved  and  hon 
ored  by  their  many  friends,  may  they  find  that  peace  and  rest  they 
have  so  well  earned  and  so  long  hoped  for  ! 

Another  year  has  gone  by.  Another  joy  has  been  added  to  the 
already  over-flowing  cup  of  Donald  Kent.  A  son  has  been  added  to 
the  circle.  Walter  Ivers  lives  again  in  his  daughter's  child.  The 
three  generations  have  matured,  and  the  fourth,  which  shall  do  honor 
to  the  past,  now  enters  upon  the  scene. 

The  city  of  Boston  proper  is  accredited  with  but  about  one  half 
of  its  real  population.  The  suburban  towns  and  villages  take  up  the 
rest.  Every  morning  the  influx  is  so  great  that  conveyances  are 
crowded  to  their  utmost  with  those  whose  business  call  them  thither ; 
and  so  in  the  afternoon  and  evening,  when  the  merchant,  the  profes 
sional  man,  the  mechanic  and  the  laborer  turn  their  faces  toward 
home. 

Beautiful  villages  invite  the  laborer  to  rest.  Long,  broad  streets 
lined  with  snug,  comfortable  cottages,  explain  where  a  great  part  of 
the  people  of  Boston  live.  Beautiful  sites  are  selected  by  the 
wealthy,  the  merchant  prince,  the  successful  professional  man,  the 
fortunate  speculator,  the  retired  officer,  the  easy-going  man  who  has 
inherited  a  fortune,  the  aged  millionaire  seeking  quiet  in  life's  de 
cline — are  an  here.  Every  hill-top  is  crowned  with  a  mansion  ;  the 
sunny  declevity  has  its  beautiful  garden  and  lawn  ;  the  highlands  all 


292  ENDURA  :    OR, 

appear  to  be  taken  up  for  the  homes  of  the  great  and  the  wealthy. 
One  sightly  eminence,  in  the  immediate  vicinity  of  Boston,  is  occu 
pied  by  a  very  peculiar  building.  It  is  no  less  noticeable  for  its 
commanding  position  than  for  its  peculiar  style  of  architecture.  It 
can  be  seen  for  miles  away,  and  the  stranger  upon  the  train  not  un- 
frequently  asks  what  the  castellated-looking  building  may  be.  If  the 
person  of  whom  the  question  is  asked  be  a  citizen  of  Boston,  the 
answer  is  that  it  is  the  residence  of  the  Honorable  Donald  Kent,  one 
of  Boston's  greatest  lawyers. 

The  structure  is  of  stone,  with  a  broad,  square  tower,  with  two 
wings  which  border  upon  the  gothic  style  of  architecture.  It 
really  has  the  appearance  of  having  been  built  at  different  periods  of 
time,  with  a  generation  or  so  intervening.  Such  is  not  the  case, 
however.  Mr.  Kent  conceived  the  idea  of  erecting  a  building  after 
the  exact  design  of  the  Chateau  Vieux,  and  of  arranging  the  in 
terior  precisely  the  same.  And,  with  that  view,  he  sent  his  architect 
to  France  to  study  up  the  old  castle,  and  the  result  is  the  counter 
part  upon  the  highlands,  overlooking  the  city  of  Boston  and  the  sur 
rounding  country  for  many  miles.  From  the  top  of  the  tower 
nearly  thirty  towns  and  villages  may  be  seen,  with  the  smoke  of  their 
thousand  tall  chimneys,  mingling  with  the  clouds.  The  site  was  well 
selected,  and  the  structure  eminently  fitted  to  the  sightly  elevation  it 
occupies.  There  the  stranger  finds  a  welcome,  and  the  needy  is  not 
turned  away  empty  handed.  It  is  known  far  and  near  as  the 
Chateau. 

Mrs.  Ivers  has  been  allotted  the  room  corresponding  with  the  one 
in  which  she  was  born,  in  the  old  chateau  in.  France.  In  the  east 
wing  is  the  reception  room  and  the  library,  over  which  are  the  mag 
nificent  sleeping  rooms  of  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Kent,  with  the  nursery  adjoin 
ing.  They  have  found  a  place  for  every  picture,  as  well  as  for  the 
furniture,  which  they  collected  while  in  Europe.  Articles  of  vertu  and 
brie  a  brae  are  scattered  all  over  the  place. 

The  choicest  flowers  and  shrubbery  ornament  the  grounds,  and 
rare  exotics  fill  the  conservatories,  which  every  spring  are  taken  out 
and  transferred  to  the  lawn  and  garden,  so  that  to  the  stranger  visiting 
the  place  in  summer,  it  has  the  appearance  of  a  tropical  garden. 


THREE    GENERATIONS.  293 

Adjoining  the  flower  garden,  is  a  fruit  and  vegetable  garden,  where 
everything  is  raised  that  will  grow  in  the  New  England  climate. 

Mrs.  Ivers  says,  very  truly,  "  There  is  nothing  like  picking  your 
peas  and  beans  from  your  own  vines."  And  she  would  not  think 
green  corn  fit  to  eat,  that  had  been  picked  the  day  before. 
Donald  and  his  wife  were  of  the  same  opinion,  and  there  was  nothing 
that  pleased  them  more,  than  to  refer  to  the  nice  fresh  vegetables, 
which  they  could  always  have  at  S . 

Donald  was  very  fond  of  cattle  and  horses.  Besides  his  carriage 
horses,  he  had  a  pet  horse  that  appeared  to  think  it  had  not  been  well 
treated  if  the  master  neglected  it. 

He  had  also  a  young  Jersey  cow,  which  was  a  great  pet  with  the 
family.  They  called  her  Daisy,  and  almost  the  first  word  little 
Walter  could  speak  was  "dada,"  which  so  pleased  them  all,  that  they 
declared  that  he  must  have  a  little  "dada."  So  the  first  calf  the 
Jersey  had  after  that  was  called  Walter's. 

When  any  of  Donald's  friends  from  the  country  visited  him,  he 
took  as  much  pleasure  in  showing  them  about  the  place  as  he  had 
taken,  in  being  himself  shown  about  fine  places,  when  he  first  went 
to  live  in  Boston,  when  he  little  dreamed  that  one  day  he  would  own 
a  far  grander  place  than  any  of  them.  But  such  is  fortune;  al 
most  anything  is  within  the  possibilities. 

Donald  used  often  to  take  his  family  and  drive  to  S . 

to  remain  over  the  Sabbath,  when  he  and  Endura  would  attend 
church  in  the  village;  and  they  rarely  missed  a  ramble  across  the 
meadow,  and  a  rest  upon  the  great  rock  beside  the  path,  which 
brought  back  the  bitter  and  sweet  of  life.  And  they  realized  to  the 
fullest  extent  how  they  had  been  blessed. 

Mrs.  Ivers  had  had  a  monument  erected  in  the  little  grave-yard, 
upon  which  was  inscribed  the  name  of  her  husband  and  that  of  her 
son.  The  little  spot  was  kept  in  beautiful  order,  with  flowers  and 
choice  shrubbery.  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Kent,  Donald's  father  and  mother, 
took  almost  as  much  interest  in  the  place,  as  did  Mrs.  Ivers.  So  it 
was  never  neglected. 

One  day  when  Mrs.  Ivers  was  visiting  at  her  old  home,  an  aged 
man  came  to  the  gate,  and  was  met  by  Mr.  Kent  Sr. 

The  stranger  asked  him  if  he  had  ever  known  a  family  in   those 


294  ENDURA:  OR, 

parts,  by  the  name  of  Dubrow;  upon  being  answered  in  the 
affirmative,  he  asked  if  he  could  give  him  any  information,  as  to 
what  became  of  the  daughter.  Upon  being  told  that  the  lady,  he  in 
quired  about,  was  then  in  the  house,  he  manifested  the  greatest  de 
light,  and  said  he  would  like  much  to  see  her.  He  did  not  wish  to 
give  his  name,  but  wanted  to  know  if  she  would  recognize  an  old  ac 
quaintance. 

Mr.  Kent  invited  him  into  the  house  and  called  Mrs.  Ivers.  He 
told  her  there  was  a  gentleman  who  wished  to  see  her. 

Upon  her  entering  the  parlor,  the  old  gentleman  arose  and  asked 
if  she  was  Mrs.  Ivers,  formerly  Miss  Dubrow.  She  told  him  she  was 
the  same,  upon  which,  he  began  to  ask  her  questions  which  somewhat 
annoyed  and  perplexed  her.  He  asked  her  to  relate  some  of  the  cir 
cumstances  attending  the  shipwreck  when  she  and  another  passenger 
only  was  saved. 

She  watched  him  closely,  but  was  not  able  to  determine  whom  he 
could  be.  She  had  an  indistinct  recollection  that  she  had  met  him  be 
fore,  but  when  or  where,  she  could  not  tell.  She  told  him  of  the  wreck  as 
she  remembered  it  and  of  her  miraculous  escape  with  another  passen 
ger  who  was  picked  up  at  the  same  time  as  herself  by  the  barque, 
"Good  Return,"  and  brought  back  to  New  York,  since  when,  she  said 
she  had  never  seen  or  heard  of  him. 

Here  the  old  gentleman  took  out  his  handkerchief,  wiped  his 
eyes  and  said,  "I  am  he." 

Mrs.  Ivers  approached  him  and  took  his  hand.  Looking  him  in 
the  face  she  said  : 

"Is  it  possible  that  this  is  Mr.  Wade,  my  companion  in  that  dire  dis 
tress  ?"  It  did  not  take  long  for  him  to  convince  her  that  it  was  indeed 
he. 

The  next  thing  was  to  learn  where  he  had  kept  himself  all  these 
years  that  she  had  never  heard  of  him.  He  soon  explained  that  he 
went  West  almost  immediately  upon  his  return  to  New  York,  where 
he  had  remained  ever  since.  He  had  forgotten  or  lost  her  address 
and  all  his  efforts  to  ascertain  her  whereabouts,  had  been  in  vain, 
until  he  happened  to  notice  in  the  papers  the  story  of  the  recovery  of 
property  in  France,  when  he  learned  her  name  and  where  she  lived. 


THREE   GENERATIONS.  295 

He  had  been  engaged  in  business  in  the  West,  where  he  had  suf 
fered  by  flood  and  by  fire  ;  the  latter  had  ruined  him,  destroying  his 
property,  which  was  but  partly  insured,  which  insurance  he  had  not 
yet  been  able  to  collect,  except  about  enough  to  pay  his  indebtedness. 
He  said  he  had  tried  to  struggle  on,  but  every  effort  had  proved  fu 
tile,  and  to-day  he  found  himself  poor  and  helpless. 

Mrs.  Ivers  asked  if  he  had  a  family.  He  said  he  had  never  been 
married,  and  he  thanked  God  he  had  no  family  to  make  miserable. 

She  sympathized  with  him  in  his  misfortunes  and  gave  him 
a  substantial  proof  of  her  sympathy,  which  he  acknowledged  with 
tears. 

When  he  took  his  leave,  he  was  invited  to  call  on  Mr.  Kent,  her 
son-in-law  in  Boston,  who  would  advise  him  of  her  whereabouts. 

The  parting  was  an  affecting  one,  when  the  old  man  took  her 
hand  and  said  fervently,  "  God  bless  you  and  yours  !"  They  never 
met  again,  but  his  parting  blessing  was  never  forgotten. 

The  greater  part  of  the  business  of  the  firm  of  Stern,  Strong  & 
Kent  devolved  upon  the  junior  partner,  which  kept  him  very  busy; 
for  their  business  had  greatly  increased  since  he  first  entered  the 
office. 

They  now  had  a  number  of  clerks  where  Donald  used  to  be  able 
to  do  all  the  copying  and  have  plenty  of  time  to  spare.  Those  of  the 
clerks  who  showed  any  peculiar  aptness,  or  determination  to  excel, 
Donald  took  pride  in  encouraging,  which  was  appreciated  by  them; 
and  it  is  not  too  much  to  say  that  with  the  new  blood,  which  from 
time  to  time  will  be  added,  the  successors  of  the  old  firm  will  con 
tinue  to  command  that  high  esteem  and  unbounded  confidence  which 
had  been  accorded  to  their  predecessors. 

Donald's  father  and  mother  make  an  occasional  pilgrimage  to  the 
city,  when  they  witness  the  honors  which  are  showered  upon  their  son 
and  wonder  how  it  comes  about  that  the  slow-going  boy,  called  lazy 
by  some,  should  have  developed  into  the  great  lawyer  and  business 
man  that  he  has.  His  brothers  and  sisters  make  him  visits  now  and 
then,  and  receive  great  honors  and  a  cordial  welcome  as  the  relatives 
of  one  they  delight  to  honor. 


296  ENDURA:  OR,  THREE  GENERATIONS. 

When  Donald  visits  S he  takes  great  pleasure  in  wandering  over 

the  fields  through  uncertain  paths,  over  stone  walls  buried  beneath  the 
debris  and  mould  of  ages,  by  the  side  of  stream-beds  that  were  once  gur 
gling  brooks,  through  tangled  brushwood  and  brambles  where  once  the 
smooth  path  led  to  a  neighboring  house- — the  path  now  choked  and 
lost,  except  to  him  whose  childish  feet  were  wont  to  stray  therin.  Near 
this  path  was  once  a  quaint  old  house,  of  which  naught  remains  but  a 
pile  of  rough  stones  with  plastered  chinks — a  crumbling  monument 
of  the  builders,  long  since  forgotten.  This  old  chimney  brings  to 
mind  a  long  train  of  recollections — some  sweet,  some  bitter. 

And  many  others,  beside  Donald  Kent,  delight  to  ruminate  and  live 
over  the  past — to  return  again  to  boyhood  while  their  locks  are  thin  and 
gray;  to  be  a  child  once  more  amid  the  scenes  so  dear  to  memory ; 
to  build  air  castles  as  we  often  build  them  in  the  past ;  hunt  for 
bird's  nests  among  the  green  leaves  in  summer,  or  skim  on  the  frozen 
lake  in  winter ;  suffer  again  the  imaginary  hardships  of  youth,  which 
from  the  stand  point  of  age,  are  but  pleasant  pastimes ;  enduring 
the  winters  cold,  listening  to  the  rain  and  hail  as  it  was  wont  to  beat 
against  the  window  panes  in  winter,  or  to  the  patter  of  gentle  showers 
in  summer. 

The  dream  has  been  a  reality,  and  the  man  that  has  not  known  it, 
has  missed  one  of  the  greatest  enjoyments  of  life. 


)M 


313684 


UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  LIBRARY 


